


A Gift From The Gods

by BlackBird333



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26260864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackBird333/pseuds/BlackBird333
Summary: ***Notes added to Prologue chapter - 06/11/2020Set shortly after the Battle Of Sundari on Mandalore, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi is tasked by the Council to deliver information to General Grievous, Supreme Commander of the Separatist Droid Army, that may be of great personal interest, but will it be enough to turn the tide of the war?Then, when Grievous' survival depends on Obi-Wan, the two learn more about each other than either ever thought possible.These revelations set them on a journey that no-one expected, and only the Gods could have foreseen.
Relationships: Grievous | Qymaen jai Sheelal/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 45
Kudos: 255





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes - 04/10/2020  
> First of all I just want to say thank you for all the support this fic has already received. This is my first ever real fanfiction and I'm totally overwhelmed already by the wonderful responses it had gained. And I also want to say a huge thank you to my amazing beta who has gone above and beyond proofing, fact checking and generally tidying the edges of this story. But no thank you to my idiot brother who has been insisting I title this work 'It's Obivious, you're the Obi-Wan for me – A Star Wars story'. *insert eye roll*
> 
> This will be a very long I hope providing Obi-Wan and Grievous both behave themselves as I write, they are constantly doing their own thing and saying what they please.
> 
> The length of the chapters do start off quite short but they are getting longer as the story picks up. I generally try to stay quite a few chapters ahead of what has been published so even if/when I do get hit by writer's block I'll still be able to update regularly. I can't promise exactly when I will be able to update but I promise I will not at any point abandon this fic. I can't stand leaving things half finished.
> 
> I am English so my writing will be also. I also want to add that the rating and tags will change and be updated as this story progresses. It is and will be an Obi-Wan/Grievous story, and will become more mature and explicit when the time is right.
> 
> I welcome conversation, questions and suggestions. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Notes - 06/11/2020
> 
> Hi everyone. I just want to apologise for the lack of updates and reassure please that this fic' has not and WILL NOT be dropped. I've been really sick and my fabulous Beta has been busy with other things. Chapters soon I promise. Thank you!

  
**Prologue  
  
** _He who surrenders hope, surrenders life._

  
  


_The man who knelt before the Gods was so broken They could hear his pain calling out to Them more loudly and clearly than his prayers and pleas._

_  
The Brother watched quietly for some time and then He turned away. The small wants of mortals were no concern of His and nor were their wishes and whims something for Him to grant.  
_  
  


_The Sister reached beseechingly for the Brother's arm, for She had a gentle soul and to see the man's heartbreak and suffering was as painful to Her as if it were Her own.  
_  
  


_The Brother shook His head. Gods They were but They had no power to change the past. Thousands had asked it before this man and thousands after him would do the same. It was only one mortal life after all.  
_  
  


_The Brother left the Sister, who stayed to watch the man's pain alone. So saddened for this mortal was She that She looked deep into his future and Her sorrow for the heartbroken man grew and grew. So much suffering and pain was too much for one man to bear.  
_  
  


_She reached further into the man's future and, unhappy with what She saw there, She changed it.  
_  
  


_She couldn't give the man back the love he begged for now but, one day, She could give him a new one._


	2. Of Means and Ends

**Chapter I  
** **Of Means and Ends** **  
  
** _ A single chance is a galaxy of hope. _

_  
_Somehow, Obi-Wan Kenobi always seemed to be the last to arrive in the round Council Chamber. _Either that, or the other Masters have little better to do with their days than loiter around the tower,_ he thought – perhaps a little uncharitably.

"Apologies for my late arrival; I came as soon as I received the summons." He took his seat between Masters Ki-Adi-Mundi and Agen Kolar. "What is this about? It sounded urgent," he continued, sitting back and crossing an ankle over his knee.

“Information, we have received," said Yoda. "Turn the tide of the war if used correctly, it could."

Mace Windu explained. “A squad of Intelligence Retrieval Clones was sent to Serenno under my command. They were tasked with bringing back top secret information regarding Separatist spies in our midst. Unfortunately the mission failed and only one of their number, and a droid, made it out alive. The clone was seriously injured and didn't survive. Although they did not obtain the material we wanted, the droid did manage to return with other vital information.” Mace held up a data-chip. “This.”

Obi-Wan uncrossed his legs and leaned forward with interest.

"And what does the chip contain?" Master Saesee Tiin's deep voice asked the question Mace Windu was clearly waiting for.

"Years' worth of information on General Grievous. It turns out that the Count and his allies had their eyes on him for a long time before he even joined them."

"Reviewed all the data-files, Master Windu and I alone have," interjected Yoda. "Best it is, we decided for safety, that for now all the details, few know."

Mace nodded his head in agreement before continuing, "To cut a long story short, it turns out that the Count was, in fact, responsible for the accident and experimental surgery that caused General Grievous to become what he is today."

"Accident?" said Obi-Wan curiously. Although he knew that the fearsome General was not, in fact, a droid but rather partly organic, he had never much had time (or indeed inclination) to wonder about Grievous' beginnings. He supposed that, if it had not been a voluntary procedure after all, an accident would have been his best guess.

"A ship explosion," Yoda confirmed. "Lucky to survive, the General was."

"Quite," observed Obi-Wan, sitting back in his chair and thinking, _How injured would one have to be that the only way forward was the body General Grievous had adopted?_

"When I visited his home in the Vassek system, there was evidence he was once a great warrior," Master Kit Fisto said. Obi-Wan almost smiled at hearing the Nautolan refer to his entrapment and near-death in Grievous' fortress as a _visit_. "There was a shrine of sorts that showed the warrior slowly gaining cybernetic enhancements over time; nothing of an accident."

"To hide that secret, I think Grievous wishes," said Yoda.

"The point is," Mace interrupted, "that this Council now holds information that, were Grievous to discover it, could turn him from Dooku's side. Without Grievous leading the droid forces this war could be over, in our favour, in no time. The Separatists have no-one equal to replace him."

"Then surely the next step is to get those files to Grievous, and the sooner the better?" This from the distorted voice of Master Shaak Ti's hologram, projected from Kamino.

"Could a transmission be sent?" asked Agen Kolar.

"That would be very risky," came the deep soothing tones of Master Plo Koon, the words only slightly disrupted by his holoprojection from the Outer Rim. "Without a secure channel to the General, the chances of it being intercepted are high. The last thing we want to do is send this information directly back into Dooku's lap, especially if he is unaware we have it."

"Agree with you, I do. Most secure will this be, if in person it is delivered."

“We need someone who already has history with the General to deliver it, if we want any chance he'll take this seriously and not cast it off as a forgery," said Mace.

With a plummeting feeling, Obi-Wan saw very suddenly where this line of talk was leading. _Oh wonderful,_ he thought. Even if he were the best Jedi for the job, which he probably was, it was such a transparent attempt to give him something to do. Something that would stop his moping around the Temple, take his mind off his latest encounter with Maul and his failures and losses on Mandalore, and force him to regain focus on the war.

Yoda must have caught his expression, as he said, "Master Kenobi, I recommend for this mission. Faced the General many times, you have, hmm?"

"Indeed, it can certainly be said that Grievous and I share much history," said Obi-Wan. _If multiple attempts on each other's lives count,_ he added to himself, stroking his beard. "Our intelligence tells us that he is currently with his fleet in the Kastolarsector. With respect, I can hardly take a fighter into Separatist space, fly up to his landing bay and ask for an audience."

"A minor detail that I am sure you can work around," said Mace in his sternest voice.

 _Minor detail indeed._ Obi-Wan frowned.

Yoda gave a quiet chortle. "Resourceful indeed, you are, Master Obi-Wan. Take young Skywalker and his Padawan, will you?"

Mace shifted in his seat but remained silent.

"No. No, I think it will be best if I go alone. If I want to keep a low profile, numbers may give me away too soon. And it will be far easier to convince Grievous that I am not there to assassinate him if I have no other Jedi, or clones, to back me up. Though maybe it would be wise to have Anakin and Ahsoka nearby in case things take a turn for the worse and I need an extraction." _Rescuing again, as Anakin would put it._

This, Mace refused to let go. "The boy is too close to the Chancellor: we can't expect him to keep the mission a secret. I personally think that knowledge of this assignment should remain in this room for the time being. Besides, General Skywalker and his Padawan are needed where they are in the Outer Rim."

 _Where I should be too._ Obi-Wan recognised Mace's unspoken sentiment, but fixed a smile on his face and said, in as light-hearted a tone as he could muster, “I guess I'll just have to extract myself then.”

His comment was ignored.

"Though I understand the need for secrecy, is it really wise to leave Chancellor Palpatine in the dark?" Shaak Ti again.

Mace turned to her. "We believe so. It's a huge risk but, if Master Kenobi can pull this off, the benefits will outweigh any secrecy we employ now. If and when we are successful we can inform the Senate."

Various other members of the Council murmured and nodded their approval at his words. It was clear that Grand Master Yoda, along with Master Windu, had already decided on the course of action the Council would take, even if there had been disagreement. Besides, there was not really one among them who didn't silently agree that their Chancellor was trying to become a little too involved in Jedi business. The Clone Army might belong to the Republic but the Jedi had been placed in command of the army and war efforts. Tactics were their department: this could simply be viewed as another tactic.

"Decided, that is,” Yoda said with finality.

Yoda and Mace exchanged a dark look and Yoda nodded once at the other, permitting him to speak. Both looked grave as Mace began.

“There was something else found in some of the transmissions on that data-chip. It is with regret that I can now confirm the existence of the Sith Lord named Darth Sidious.”

Immediately a disturbed muttering susurrated around the chamber as all the Masters looked at each other in obvious astonishment.

“So clouded has the Force been to us of late.” Yoda's voice hushed the room at once. “So surprised are we all to discover this truth?”

Obi-Wan was not surprised so much as crestfallen. This possibility had played over and over in his mind ever since his confrontation with Count Dooku during his capture on Geonosis almost three standard years ago. “ _The Republic is under the control of the Dark Lord of the Sith._ ” He could still hear Dooku's words as clearly as though he had just spoken them.

“But if the existence of Sidious is true after all, that might mean Dooku was telling the truth about a Sith having control in the Senate,” he interjected.

“We investigated those claims when you first brought them to our attention, Master Kenobi,” Mace pointed out. “There was no evidence whatsoever of dark side infiltration.”

“But surely this means we'll need to start afresh? Delve deeper, launch a full-on investigation,” Obi-Wan argued.

Murmurs of agreement from many other Council members greeted this remark.

Yoda himself nodded sagely. “Investigate we shall. Begin immediately those here at the Temple shall. Speak with the Chancellor today, Master Windu and I will. Be questioned, all the Senators _must._ ” 

“And what of those of us still fighting?” asked Plo. “Will the war be better served by our return, our efforts concentrated on uncovering this Sith lord?”

“For now you are needed where you are, with your troops,” said Mace. “There are still many here who can commence the questioning of the Senate.”

The Kel Dor's expression was as inscrutable as ever behind his breathing apparatus and he merely returned Mace a nod.

“Changes many things, this does. Dooku's war, we believed this to be. To discover this is a Sith's plot alters much. Thought we knew what Dooku wanted, we did. What a Sith wants will be far darker. His identity we must discover.” Yoda banged his stick of gimer wood on the floor as he finished speaking to emphasise the importance of his words.

“Master Kenobi,” Mace turned to Obi-Wan again. “We do not know whether or not Grievous is aware of Sidious' real identity. Find out.”

“I'll do my best.” Obi-Wan had a feeling that he wouldn't be on the correct side of an interrogation to be asking any questions, but he usually managed to get what he needed.

“For now speak of this to no-one, and remain alert, you all must. Send assignments to each of you to begin our search I shall. Discretion will be needed, let on to no-one what you are searching for. Inform you of Master Kenobi's success, I will." Yoda dismissed the rest of the Council, so only Obi-Wan, Mace, and Yoda himself remained. The holoprojections flickered off and those leaving formed small groups, clearly discussing the news between themselves.

"You should leave immediately, Master Kenobi." Mace stood and moved towards Obi-Wan. "We'll have a copy of the data-chip made and then you can be on your way."

"No." Obi-Wan spoke decisively as he too got to his feet. "That's a bad idea. If General Grievous discovers we have made a copy, which would be easy enough to find out, he'll assume we plan to use it against him somehow. I think it would be best if I took the original – the only one. It may make him more inclined to trust me, and I'll need all the help I can get with that."

"A good point, Master Kenobi makes," Yoda nodded, joining them.

Mace didn't look convinced, but passed the chip into Obi-Wan's care. "The fate of the Republic rests in your hands, Master Kenobi. Remember: a lot of good men died to bring this us. May the Force be with you." And with that he too strode from the chamber.

 _No pressure then,_ thought Obi-Wan dryly. He stared at the small object in his hand, becoming lost in thought.

Some time passed in silence before a voice broke into his reverie. "A large burden in so small a thing, yes?"

Obi-Wan had quite forgotten the wizened Jedi Master beside him. "Indeed so, Master Yoda. For some time now it has felt like there is no end in sight to this infernal war. So many lives lost needlessly. The Republic more and more in debt every day. A Sith Lord in the shadows. We Jedi shouldn't be soldiers. I've been starting to believe there really is no way out and now..." He trailed off, his eyes never leaving the small blue chip in his palm. Yoda, leaning on his gimer stick, remained silent. In all his years he had learned well when to speak and when to listen.

"Perhaps this offers some hope. I know it will take many years for things to be as they once were, but I miss the days before the entire Galaxy was at war." Obi-Wan closed his hand around the chip and looked down to meet Master Yoda's eyes. "Grievous _is_ irreplaceable to the Separatist army. He truly is a great strategist – they'd not find another mind like his to lead their troops – and we are certainly no nearer to capturing him than we were two years ago, so I suppose this does feel like it's too good to be true. And even if this war _is_ the design of the Sith Lord, and not Dooku, it doesn't change the fact that, without the General to lead his forces, he'll be in a worse position than he is now, whether we know what he hopes to achieve or not." He paused again, letting out a deep sigh. "Even if by some miracle I am able to get the good General to speak to me _and_ believe me, we still can't guarantee he'll turn on his Master, or that he won't have me executed anyway."

"So sure I would not be, Master Obi-Wan. See for yourself Grievous' past. More there is than we told the Council. More even that we do not know, I think. Feel differently about him after reviewing that chip in your hand you will. Faith in you, I have."

Obi-Wan frowned at this. "What are you not telling me, Master?"

"See for yourself you will. For now you must prepare. A plan I think you have already, hmm?" Yoda's serious tone became much lighter.

"Oh, I have an idea."


	3. Shocking Revelations

**Chapter II  
** **Shocking Revelations** **  
** **  
** _ The popular belief isn't always the correct one. _

_  
_Yoda and Obi-Wan talked for some time before Obi-Wan, following Yoda's instructions, departed for one of the smaller quieter hangers. Many of the small starships and fighters kept here were neither registered nor commonly used, which meant none of them would be recognised or could be traced back to the Council. Obi-Wan, with his R4 astromech, selected a single-person craft. Small enough to travel the distance undetected, it was just large enough to contain a berth, which would allow him to rest and prepare himself while leaving the piloting to Arfour. He said goodbye to no-one but Yoda; did not even send a message to Anakin. The longer his absence went unnoticed, the better. Yoda had told him that anyone asking after him would be informed he was on a top secret mission and it was not known when he would return. Obi-Wan knew Anakin would not be happy with that explanation when he made his daily call later – checking up on his old Master and casually probing him about when he'd be returning to the front line – and was grateful that it wouldn't be his problem until he returned. _If I return,_ he added glumly. No backup, no extraction team nearby, and he had to deliver what was likely to be unwelcome information to Grievous. For once he really didn't fancy his chances.

Up in the temple Yoda watched the craft dart out and join the civilian lane heading towards space. A time of great change was approaching the Galaxy and, somehow, Master Yoda knew that the fate of that change lay not in the search for Darth Sidious but in Master Kenobi's hands.

“May the Force go with you, Master Kenobi,” Yoda said to the retreating ship.

Obi-Wan waited until they were clear of the system before passing control to Arfour. He'd been having trouble sleeping for the past few days and wanted to spend some time meditating before they reached their destination in order to properly refresh himself. There was the information on the data-chip to review as well and, as he had no idea how long it would take, he opted to look at the chip first. He moved to the small sleeping area behind the cockpit and carefully slid the data-chip into the console. The chip took longer to load than he expected – apparently it held a vast amount of data – and as the screen flicked on he leaned forward with interest.

  
  


  
  


More than two hours had passed before Obi-Wan finally switched off the console. He removed the data-chip, storing it safely in the hidden compartment of his sleeve, then moved to sit cross-legged on the cot. He closed his eyes and began the process of slowing his breathing and clearing his mind of thought and emotion. Within moments he knew the exercise would be completely futile. For the first time in days his turbulent thoughts were centered on something other than the recent events on Mandalore, and what he saw as his failure there. Emotions coursed through him more strongly than they had when he had still been a young Padawan, untrained. He was overcome with a strange anger – some of it even aimed at the Jedi Council and the Republic – coupled with confusion that surrounded the object of his ire. And, most bizarrely, he felt an overwhelming sympathy, a sense of pity and, most of all, a surge of understanding for one of his greatest enemies.

The chip had been completely filled with the life of General Grievous, or, at least, his life since he caught the attention of the mysterious Sith Lord. There was so much information here that Obi-Wan found himself once again admiring the abilities of the clone soldiers who had accidentally come across this data and recognised its importance. Logs, transmissions, reports from hired spies and more detailed the life of a powerful Kaleesh warrior by the name of Qymaen jai Sheelal. This champion had risen high in his people's esteem leading revolts against the insectoid species from Huk who invaded his home world of Kalee, first driving them back and then removing their invading force from outlying Kaleesh territories. And all this was done only _after_ the people of Kalee had appealed repeatedly to the Republic for help. Help for their starving women and children. Help against an invasive force that indiscriminately killed and enslaved the native peoples. When the Republic denied them aid the Kaleesh people turned to the Jedi, only to once again be told they must make do with their lot; all because their system was not a part of the Republic.

In Obi-Wan's view this went a long way to explaining the cybernetic General's obvious loathing for the Jedi, and his willingness to wage war against the Republic. Adding insult to injury, the Jedi and the Republic heeded the cries that came from Huk when the Yam'rii could no longer handle Sheelal's terrorising, and assisted the Yam'rii in fighting back against Kalee. The Council had even gone so far as to send more than fifty Jedi Knights to Kalee, tasking them with helping the insectoids fight back against the natives. Once Huk emerged victorious, the Jedi had put in place laws and embargoes that left the desperate and starving inhabitants of Kalee even more destitute. By basing their judgement on nothing more than one side's technological advancement and friendliness towards the Republic, the Jedi had brought starvation to an entire world. Kalee had not, as the Jedi believed, started the war; Huk was the true instigator. Obi-Wan had never heard word of this, and he was eager to return to Coruscant and discuss the matter with Master Yoda. But that would have to wait.

A mighty warrior, well-versed in great military tactic (the more impressive for being self-taught), was brought to Sidious' attention. Through Count Dooku, San Hill and his associates approached Sheelal with an offer: help for his planet in exchange for his services. It seemed that Sheelal had little choice, and he went from being the hero of his people against the oppressor to the errand boy and debt collector of a galactic bully. In return, the IGBC shouldered Kalee's enormous debt and ensured the planet was fed. Obi-Wan couldn't begin to imagine how humiliating this must have been, nor could he believe that the cold and evil General Grievous was the same great man who had sacrificed his life to aid his entire planet. But things only got worse. When the IGBC began neglecting its end of the bargain and Kalee began to suffer once more, Qymaen jai Sheelal, along with his closest and most trusted soldiers, planned to renew their attack against the Yam'rii.

Here things took their darkest turn yet. Sheelal's plan was known to Dooku. An explosive was planted on Sheelal's ship, the _Martyr_ , by one of Dooku's spies, and the device was detonated as the ship was over a Kaleesh sea. Due to the spy's careful rigging of the pilot's ejector seat, Sheelal was the only one to survive, being thrown into the sea at the last moment. An IGBC boat picked Sheelal, half-drowned and badly burned, from the water. Deeming him “not injured enough”, Dooku had subjected Sheelal to heart stun, further damaging his body and many organs beyond repair, before handing him over to a Muun doctor from the Clan for "experimentation". A transmission from Count Dooku to his Master confirmed that Sheelal was later told the explosion had been the work of the Jedi. Obi-Wan was grateful that he might at least have the opportunity to set the record straight on that score, though it seemed a pitiful correction when compared against what the Jedi had actually done... or not done, as the case had been.

Horrific details and images of the agonising processes Sheelal underwent seemed to be seared into Obi-Wan's mind. However he tried he couldn't seem to reconcile this Qymaen jai Sheelal and General Grievous being one and the same person, even if Sheelal had been going by the name Grievous for some time before his “accident”.

 _Curious choice for a name_. Obi-Wan briefly wondered at its origin, but his disgust for Dooku, his Sith Master and the Clan outweighed any other thoughts.

About this much Yoda had been correct: this truly did change how Obi-Wan saw Grievous. (It had also taken his mind off Maul and his recent atrocities, but he didn't dwell too long on that.) Before, Grievous had simply been an intelligent, if cold-hearted, killing machine; a monster, one of the greatest dangers to the freedom of the Republic. A killer of Jedi. A number of Obi-Wan's own brother and sister Jedi had died at those metal hands, and yet Obi-Wan still felt deeply sorry for the General. He truly was a product of his making. Reports from the Muun doctor detailed various Geonosian techniques, technologies and chips that had been implanted in the General's brain, algorithms that dulled many of his emotions while enhancing others and all of it done, of course, completely without Grievous' knowledge. If Grievous was now fueled only by hatred, it was because that was the design of Dooku and his Sith Master. One transmission recorded Dooku's and Sidious' mirth as Dooku spoke of Grievous' belief that he had been allowed to keep his mind, how he was unaware of the monster they had made of him.

Sadly there were no clear holo-images of the Sith Lord: a black cloaked and cowled figure, quite possibly human, was all Obi-Wan was able to discern. No matter how he paused the image or how long he studied it, nothing but darkness was visible beneath that hood. The Jedi back at the Temple could rest assured that Sidious was no Togruta, Vurk or similar, but that didn't leave them very much to go on.

Could Grievous be restored? If those implants were removed, how different would General Grievous be from what he was now? With compassion, a sense of justice, and even kindness restored, could Grievous be returned, in mind at least, to the great man he had been? Even not being completely clouded by anger and revenge could go a long way to changing the cyborg Obi-Wan knew.

Abandoning any thought of meditation, Obi-Wan instead spent the rest of the trip contemplating this new information. He was no longer concerned that Grievous would not believe him, nor that he would dismiss the information as unimportant. Grievous would hate Count Dooku and the Sith Lord for what they had done to him, and would most surely turn on them. Would he still wish to kill Obi-Wan?

 _Probably_.

When he finally found himself face to face with Grievous, he would have to choose his words with great care. All in all, the prospect of a meeting with the General was rapidly losing its appeal, and not for Obi-Wan's original reasons.


	4. Stowaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to bore anyone with lots of notes all over the place, I did just want to say thank you to everyone for all the kudos and the comments so far.  
> Chapters 3 and 4 will be the shortest chapters you'll see for a while too.  
> Thank you!

**Chapter III  
** **Stowaway** **  
** **  
** _ If there is no path before you, create your own. _

_  
_Getting to Geonosis went as smoothly as Obi-Wan could have hoped, and so deep in thought was he that the time passed quickly. He managed to remind himself to eat and drink something; he knew his next chance for sustenance may not come for some time.

The main population areas of Geonosis were so heavily garrisoned that a small lone craft was of little interest – a vessel that size posed no real threat – so Obi-Wan was able to enter the atmosphere undetected. His next challenge was locating one of the hidden droid foundries. He knew there to be more than the couple blown up or destroyed by the Republic: the hives of the Geonosians were vast, running far and deep under the planet's surface, and this far into the war the Republic simply didn't have the forces needed to ensure the entire planet was garrisoned.

Over the far side of the planet, away from the sites of Republic bases, he dropped into a low orbit.

“Arfour, begin masking our signature and start making sweeps with the thermal scanner.”

The small craft flew back and forth over areas of seemingly unremarkable land, the thermal map on the navigation screen frequently highlighting small heat clusters that corresponded to populated hives below.

The hours passed and darkness had fallen before Obi-Wan, exhausted, found what he was looking for. His entire map was glowing. It was impossible to pick out individual life forms: the foundry gave off a heat so intense that it permeated everything nearby. Suddenly awake, Obi-Wan took the ship lower, carefully scanning the land mass and the hidden droid factory beneath for a suitable landing place. The small canyon he chose seemed ideal on the scanner, and as he brought the craft down he realised that he couldn't have asked for a better spot: the ship would be completely hidden from any but the most prying of eyes.

With Arfour following silently, he made his way up the canyon side to the top, which gave him a good vantage point over the surrounding land. From here you'd have no idea that some hundred feet below, battle droids were being turned out in their thousands, the completed batches shipped out to back up the Separatist forces.

Now all Obi-Wan needed to do was find those ships.

He took a pair of night goggles from his belt and slipped them over his eyes. Everything around him came to life out of the dark. He could see the thick plumes of oily smoke a little way off, the only giveaway of the factories working beneath the ground.

Luck was on his side again or, perhaps not luck but the Force. Some three hundred feet south-east was a massive hole in the ground; a large rock formation beside it would, he realised, usually cover the pit.

As he and Arfour crossed the distance to the chasm they continuously scanned the area, which, thankfully, remained clear. Crawling the last few feet, Obi-Wan peered over the edge of the hole. Seventy feet below him was a landing platform where five small cargo freighterswere docked, being loaded with both B1 and B2 battle droids. He could see only two Geonosians, an inventory droid, and about half a dozen B1s overseeing the loading. The sides of the chasm were rough-hewn stone, and Obi-Wan was confident he could descend the distance safely. His only concern was getting down there before he was spotted and an alarm was raised.

"Okay, Arfour: wait here until I give the signal, then join me as fast as you can."

Arfour replied with a quiet series of beeps.

The descent was as easy as Obi-Wan had thought it would be. With his Force senses helping him select the best hand and footholds, ones that offered a safe grip, didn't give way, or crumble beneath his weight he made it all the way down the wall to where it met the ceiling of the giant chamber below. His silence gave none of those standing twenty feet beneath him any reason to look up and spot him. Pausing to take stock, he saw that the ship on the far side of the hangar was being loaded and it looked to be the last one. He'd have to hurry.

Now for a diversion. He looked around. There was not much in this subterranean hangar. Piles of rocks littered the floor around the edges of the chamber – presumably remnants of the excavation – and a large tunnel, metal tracks disappearing into its depths, gaped in one wall. This must lead to the main factory. A row of computer terminals, manned by a single battle droid, sat to one side of the tunnel and, to the other, several racksof fully-assembled battle droids stood side by side, ready to be loaded onto the last cargo ship. Grinning inwardly, Obi-Wan closed his eyes and reached out his hand towards them. Seeing through the Force he tipped the rack closest to him and sent it toppling towards its neighbour, which, in turn, knocked over its neighbour. The final rack dropped onto the tracks next to it with a loud crash.

 _Perfect_.

As expected, every droid and both Geonosians rushed towards the wrecked piles of droids. Taking advantage of the ensuing confusion Obi-Wan dropped lightly down and crouched behind the nearest cargo ship. Peering around the craft, he watched the battle droids arguing amongst themselves. It seemed the droid who'd been standing closest to the racks was receiving the brunt of the blame from the inventory droid, who looked close to short-circuiting. Under cover of the squabbling droids, Obi-Wan tapped the comlink on his wrist.

“Arfour, _now_!”

Obi-Wan stared at the chasm above him as a small white blur appeared, growing steadily larger. When the R-unit was only ten feet from the ground, Obi-Wan reached out through the Force and halted the little mech's descent, landing it carefully beside him.

“Good work, Arfour.”

He could just imagine the noise and havoc that Anakin's cross-circuitedArtoo unit would have made by now. Arfour replied with a quiet hoot, then wheeled across to the computer terminal and plugged into a dataport. Obi-Wan glanced around the ship again to see more droids unloading some lifting machinery from a flatbed on the tracks. It would take some time to righten the mess he'd made but he had no way of knowing how long it might be before everyone returned to their original posts. _Hurry, Arfour_ , he thought.

Seconds ticked by, feeling more like hours to Obi-Wan, before the little droid returned. No sooner had he and Arfour slipped back round the far end of the freighter than the battle droids crossed the hangar and returned to their terminals. Obi-Wan let out a shaky sigh of relief.

_And this was supposed to be the easy part of this mission!_

Turning back to his astromech, he nodded his assent for Arfour to begin projecting holoimages of the just-stolen manifest plans.

It was better than perfect. The Force truly was with Obi-Wan Kenobi tonight: three of the five freighters were listed as bound to the _Invisible Hand,_ a Trade Federation Cruiser and General Grievous' flagship after the destruction of the _Malevolence_. He memorised the registry of each of the three ships, noting the one he was currently crouching behind was not on the list, then turned back to Arfour.

“It's time for you to leave, little friend. Get the ship back to Coruscant, and with luck I'll be back soon myself.” He stood. “Ready?”

“ _Beep bleep.”_

Obi-Wan deftly levitated the droid straight up the tunnel, only removing his help when he saw Arfour's thrusters ignite close to the top. Moments later the droid disappeared from view, leaving Obi-Wan truly on his own.

Creeping round the back of the line of freighters, Obi-Wan was able to determine the three at the far end, including the one that was still being loaded, were the ships heading to the _Invisible Hand_. He had to get aboard one. There were far too many droids milling around the end ship, where the racks of battle droids were slowly being righted as loading recommenced. The neighbouring craft was not a feasible choice either, being too in view of those droids working nearby. He'd have to take his chances boarding the last of the three – the ship which stood in the middle of the line of five.

The Force resided in every living thing in the known Galaxy. Droids, however, were not living, which made it impossible to sense them. From his current hiding place behind the freighter he wished to board, Obi-Wan could perceive the living, breathing Geonosians but not the droids. Had the room been filled with organic beings he'd have been able to sense the right moment to break cover. Luck, it seemed, was clearly not as much on his side as he had thought. Every time he ducked his head around the corner to check on the bustling droids or eye up the loading ramp, there were several droids turned in his direction. So long he waited for his opportunity that he began to fear one would not present itself when, finally, it happened: another deafening crash of metal on metal, and a loud mechanical scream from a battle droid.

He peered once again from his hiding place. It seemed the last of the fallen racks had been too heavy for the fork lift retrieving it. Mid-hoist, the rack's weight had pulled the fork lift nose-first onto the track, catapulting the lift's droid driver across the room to land in a pile of rocks.

Obi-Wan seized his chance. Darting to the loading ramp, he leaped up it and was disappearing into the racks of droids before the poor fork lift operator had even been able to regain its feet.

Relief flooding through him, Obi-Wan found a dark corner at the back of the cargo bay and settled himself on the floor for what could quite possibly be a long flight; his only company, the hundreds of silent droids awaiting activation.


	5. Dreams And Droids

**Chapter IV**   
**Dreams and Droids**   
  
_One vision can have many interpretations._

_  
_Obi-Wan knew he couldn't really complain about the long wait before he departed from Geonosis – the delay was of his making, after all – but all the same his current thoughts did not make good company. He checked again that the data-chip was safely ensconced in his sleeve, his thoughts turning again to General Grievous.

Eventually the hold door was sealed, locking him in total darkness, and shortly after that the engines hummed to life and the ship departed. The low thrum of the engines, warm beneath him, was soothing and his lack of rest since leaving Coruscant caught up with him. Tucked in his corner in the darkness he allowed himself to be lulled to sleep.

  
  


  
  


_The moon shone brightly, illuminating a vast sea of battle droids. Waves of droid figures swept back and forth beneath Obi-Wan who floated high above them, a woman poised beside him. She was not human, but beautiful, with long dark hair and eyes the colour of fire. She shone even more brightly than the moon._

_As dark clouds moved in to cover the moon's light and the gentle waves become tempestuous, the woman turned to Obi-Wan._

_“Help him!”_

_Help who? Obi-Wan didn't understand; he looked around him but there was no-one else there, and when he turned back to the woman she too had vanished._

_Clouds completely covered a sky that only moments ago had been clear and full of starlight. Now the only light was from the lightning strikes that flashed and scorched the raging sea beneath him. Hundreds of droids were thrown into the air, wave crashed upon wave. And suddenly, against the grey of inanimate droids, was a flash of colour. Obi-Wan tried to move towards it but found he was suddenly frozen in place._

_His eyes followed the blur of colour, standing out so sharply from the sea around it, until he could discern a figure wrapped in clothing. Was this the man he was meant to help?_

_However hard Obi-Wan strained to move he could not so much as wiggle a finger. The storm had moved closer, and more droids fell from the sky into the sea below. The last thing he saw of the figure below, before the falling droids covered it completely, was the face of General Grievous._

  
  


  
  


Obi-Wan was startled from sleep as the cargo ship came out of hyperspace. Disorientated he shook his head, trying to dispel the remnants of the dream from his mind. The memory brought a frown even as it faded: who was that woman, and what had she meant?

Being a frequent practitioner of clearing his mind before sleep meant he very rarely dreamed. Doing so was disconcerting enough, but dreaming of Grievous was particularly unsettling. He felt the craft slow before he could think on it further, however, and he jumped to his feet, alert and ready for the next step in his mission as the engines fell silent.

Artificially bright light flooded the hold as the ramp was lowered. Squinting as his eyes adjusted, Obi-Wan stepped further back into his nook, letting the shadows hide him. He watched as the racks of droids were hauled down the ramp and out of sight. Much to his relief, the engines remained silent after the final rack was unloaded – if the ship had been closed and readied for take-off he'd have had to break cover with no chance to assess his options.

The open cargo hold faced the hangar shield, with only stars and other ships in the fleet visible in the distance. Obi-Wan couldn't, however, see much of anything going on in the hangar itself from his vantage point, although the sounds of various droids echoing around left him in little doubt that he was far from alone. He couldn't risk waiting for the hangar to clear (he had no idea how long that could take, or if it even would), so he crept to the doorway for a glimpse of his surroundings.

The other two cargo ships were docked next to his, and above the one furthest from his current position was a gangway. It was high but he was fairly certain he could make the leap. The other side of the landing bay was as he'd predicted. Units of droids moved about loading and unloading various ships, and inventory and tactical droids roamed up and down stacks of boxes and rows of newly arrived droids. The tricky part would be breaking cover to get round the back of the ships – after that he'd have no trouble. Droids were not known for looking up.

_Well, no time like the present._

He took a running leap from the ship, landing in a forward roll and straightening quickly to press his back against the hull of the ship, thanking the Force that no blaster fire flew at him. He paused for a moment, listening for any shouts indicating he had been seen. None came. Moving swiftly along the line of ships, he Force jumped onto one then straight up onto the overhead walkway. From there he had a perfect view of the entire landing bay. It was huge. Hundreds of droids stood at attention, while hundreds more marched out of the hangar through a large double doorway. Obi-Wan couldn't see a single biological being amongst them. Turning his back on the view below he moved along the walkway. There was only one door on his side of the docking bay, which severely limited his options. His fingers itched for his lightsaber as he hit the button, the door hissing open to reveal an empty service corridor.

_Left or right?_

Obi-Wan opted to go left: it would take him deeper into the ship.

  
  


  
  


The next problem, Obi-Wan mused as he aimlessly wandered the long passageways and occasionally climbed a ladder to the next deck, was going to be getting to Grievous whilst attracting the least amount of attention. The fewer who knew of his presence on the Federation Cruiser the better. The bridge was obviously out. Grievous' quarters would be well-guarded too, though not as busy as the bridge. It seemed unlikely that the General would go anywhere aboard his flagship alone.

This hypothesising was all very well, he thought as he turned down the next corridor, but it wasn't really going to get him anywhere. This ship was most likely the size of a small city and he had no idea where anything was located. Including himself.

 _I suppose a map would be too much to ask for?_ He gave a wry smile at the thought and rounded the corner, straight into a trio of battle droids.


	6. Face To Face

**Chapter V**   
**Face to Face**   
  
_In war, truth is the first casualty._

  
_Ah. Well, I suppose this could work too._

Obi-Wan ignored his instincts and raised his hands in the universal gesture of surrender.

“Hello there, friends. I don't suppose you could point me to General Grievous' quarters?” He smiled politely.

The droids were clearly confused.

“Is that a Jedi?” asked one.

“I think so,” replied a second.

“Uh-oh, we're doomed. He hasn't even drawn his lightsaber.” The first again.

“But we outnumber him three to one. He has no chance,” from the third.

“Did you just come off the assembly line? An outnumbered Jedi is the worst kind!”

“Now, now, there's no need for hostilities. I am indeed a Jedi, and my weapon is still on my belt. Please do mention that to the General when you report my presence.”

“Should we arrest him?”

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Roger, roger.”

All three droids raised their blasters.

“This is never going to work,” moaned the first.

“I promise not to be any trouble. I really do just want a quick word with General Grievous, so if you could give him a call I'd be very grateful,” said Obi-Wan amiably, his hands still raised.

“Should we call the General?” the third droid asked his companions, an almost sceptical edge to his voice.

“If this is a trap he won't be happy,” the first observed miserably.

Obi-Wan's apprehension gave way to relief as the second droid finally punched a code into the comm unit on his arm.

“Er... General Grievous, sir?”

“There had better be good reason for this interruption to my training!” General Grievous' deep rasp jumped out of the comm. “Or my elite will be using you for target practice.”

The first droid continued to shake his head sadly.

“No, sir. Er, I mean yes, sir,” stuttered the second droid. “Sir, we've caught a Jedi –”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Obi-Wan chipped in helpfully.

“– Obi-Wan Kenobi, in one of the starboard service passages on L deck.”

A roar erupted from the comm: “All units to that section _immediately_! Take him to the detention block and do NOT let him escape. I will meet you there directly.” The transmission ended abruptly.

“Oh dear,” sighed Obi-Wan. “He doesn't sound too happy to see me, does he?”

“Okay, Jedi, you heard him. Move it!” The droid pointed Obi-Wan in the direction he'd come from and hit him sharply in the back with his blaster.

Obi-Wan was marched along the corridor to an apparently unremarkable expanse of wall. One of the droids touched a panel and a door, perfectly hidden, opened onto a huge central corridor filled with countless battle droids, super battle droids, and droidekas. Raising an eyebrow at the numbers, Obi-Wan meekly allowed his original three droids, their confidence growing, to manhandle him through the crowds.

Joined by several super battle droids, they entered a turbolift, and were met at their destination by yet more droids and a number of droidekas, all waiting to escort Obi-Wan to the _Invisible Hand_ 's detention block. Telltale footfalls, heavy and metallic, halted their approach and the noise grew steadily louder, preceding the arrival of the General himself, flanked by his MagnaGuards.

“General Kenobi,” came the taunting tone of the huge cyborg. “So good of you to join us.”

“General Grievous. I must say, I'm flattered by the welcome reception. I didn't realise you cared so much.”

With a low roar, Grievous pounced. One huge taloned foot struck and caught Obi-Wan around the neck, pinning him to the floor. Obi-Wan hit the ground so hard it left him winded, and patches of light flashed across his vision as he fought to stay focussed. Grievous loomed over him, their faces only inches apart.

“Always so witty, Jedi,” Grievous spat. “Now, how did you get aboard my ship, and how many of your scum friends did you bring with you?”

This turned out to be completely rhetorical. Obi-Wan's current position rendered him physically unable to speak; in fact he could barely breathe. Then Grievous' eyes lit on the lightsaber still attached to Obi-Wan's belt.

“You allowed yourself to be captured without even defending yourself?” Grievous gleefully snatched the weapon from Obi-Wan. “What game are you playing, Jedi?” He straightened up and carelessly threw Obi-Wan towards the IG-100s, two of which caught him deftly.

“Bring him. I will interrogate this Jedi slime myself.”

Head pounding, Obi-Wan was dragged by the impressive cloaked MagnaGuards behind Grievous' towering form into a large holding room with a containment cell in its centre. He was flung unceremoniously onto the cell platform and stripped of his comlink and utility belt. Cuffs were strapped to his wrists and ankles, and the containment field was generated. Obi-Wan was held in mid-air, hands above his head. The MagnaGuards retreated; the two who had dragged him there taking up positions on either side of the door while the rest, he supposed, leaving to stand guard outside. Grievous remained just outside the containment area, for once looking up at Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan's lightsaber still clutched in a clawed fist. Despite his current predicament, Obi-Wan was relieved that Grievous had come to see him straight away. Count Dooku becoming aware of Obi-Wan's present location was potentially problematic, though not disastrous, but the later Dooku found out (if at all), the better for Obi-Wan. It would certainly give him more time to convince Grievous to change sides, and time was something he sorely needed. Looking down into that piercing golden stare, Obi-Wan had to wonder if there was enough time left in the galaxy. Once again he had to reconcile the hero of Kalee and the monster standing before him being one and the same. He thought he could convince the hero, but how to get through to him?

His musings were interrupted by Grievous.

“My droids tell me you were eager to speak with me, Jedi. Did you come to surrender?” Amused by his own joke, Grievous gave a hacking laugh that sounded closer to a cough. “Where is the rest of your boarding party?”

“I came alone,” replied Obi-Wan, knowing full well that it was unlikely he'd be believed. “And I _did_ come to speak with you, Grievous, but not to surrender. It is about... a, uh, rather delicate matter.” Here Obi-Wan threw a pointed look at the two guards stationed by the door.

“You are in no position to be making demands,” Grievous hissed, seeing Obi-Wan's obvious intent. “Anything you wish to say, you'll say in front of my guards.”

“Very well.” Obi-Wan took a deep breath and readied himself. “I have in my possession some rather sensitive information that might be of interest to you, General.”

“Indeed, Kenobi. Or are you perhaps trying to distract me while your friends gallivant about my ship? Whatever your little plot is, Jedi, it won't succeed. Is it sabotage, or are you merely here to try and execute me? We are in Separatist space and surrounded by my entire droid fleet. You and your puny little friends have no chance of success or escape.”

Already the conversation was progressing exactly as expected. Obi-Wan just managed to stop himself sighing theatrically; the General enjoyed the sound of his own voice, and was single-minded to boot. His face must have betrayed his thoughts, as his reply was ripped away and replaced by a wordless scream of agony as a stun charge exploded through his body. The onslaught continued for what felt like an eternity before Grievous lifted his finger from the control panel beside him. Fighting for breath Obi-Wan hung limply in his bonds, dazedly chiding himself for not having factored torture into his expectations.

“Ge... General,” Obi-Wan croaked, his voice shaking. He realised that he'd allowed himself to become complacent – it had been going so smoothly, and was such a change of pace from the fighting and battle plans – and, worse, he'd almost forgotten the very real danger his role put him in. Had he thought Grievous would see the truth at once, that they would exchange token blows before plotting the Separatists' downfall? He tried to steady his breathing.

“General, please. I'm alone... truly. Scan the area, you'll see no-one's waiting for me.” He closed his eyes for a second; the aftershocks running through his body made it difficult to concentrate. “I'll tell you how... and why. I swear. I really _do_ have information... important information.”

“What possible motivation could a Jedi have for passing information to me?” Grievous sneered. Dimly Obi-Wan noted how the General always managed to pronounce “Jedi” so it sounded like “vermin”, and somewhere behind his agony he remembered why the Jedi were so repulsive to his enemy, and again that pity rose within him.

“Just because I am a Jedi does not mean I wish you harm, Grievous.” Obi-Wan's change of tone took Grievous by surprise. The thin black slits in his eyes became even narrower as he scrutinised the bound figure above him.

“I'll play your game, Jedi; _for now._ But if you are trying to trick me, I promise you will sorely regret it. Let us begin with how you managed to board my ship. I must ensure your arrival cannot be repeated by others of your kind.”

Obi-Wan explained, doing his best to be vague about the exact coordinates on Geonosis and the exact identity of his ship. He was fairly certain Arfour would be safely back on Coruscant by now, but why risk it – he didn't like the idea of the little 'mech being blown out of the sky. Grievous prompted him here and there for more details and Obi-Wan did his best to seem honest and accommodating; difficult as it was, he needed to give Grievous no reason to doubt him.

When the Jedi's tale had ended Grievous nodded to one of his guards who noiselessly left the room, presumably to pass the information along for verification, and returned just as silently.

“Now, Jedi, what is this “sensitive information” you need to give me, and so badly that you would come all this way supposedly alone?”

“It would be better if I show you.”

“How?”

“There is a data-chip in my left sleeve. If you drop the field for a moment I can get it. You have my oath as a J– you have my word I'll co-operate.”

Seconds became minutes. Had it not been for the occasional flicker of Grievous' eyes, Obi-Wan could easily have believed he was looking at a droid, he stood so still. Finally Grievous' hand moved to the control panel. Obi-Wan braced himself for another stun charge, but instead landed heavily on the platform below as the restraints were released.

“Any tricks, Jedi, and your death will be slower and more painful than you could possibly imagine,” warned Grievous. His bodyguards stepped forward, electrostaffs buzzing menacingly.

Obi-Wan climbed stiffly to his feet, his right ankle throbbing from the awkward landing. Keeping his movements slow to show he intended to behave himself, he slipped his right hand into his left sleeve and withdrew the data-chip. With shaking breaths he held it out between thumb and forefinger to Grievous, maintaining eye contact throughout. _Trust me_ , he willed, but a MagnaGuard plucked the chip from his hand and passed it to the General.

The moment the chip was out of his possession, the containment field was reactivated and Obi-Wan again hung bound in mid-air.

“Very good, Jedi,” Grievous said mockingly.

Another charge, stronger than the first, tore through Obi-Wan. His jaw clamped shut under the pressure, trapping his tongue between his teeth, and he was numbly aware of the taste of blood filling his mouth.

“Very good indeed,” repeated Grievous, removing the charge.

Obi-Wan's head sagged forward and as he gulped desperate lungfuls of air, blood poured from his mouth, staining his beige robes.

“What's this? Some sort of weapon that will sabotage my ship's systems? Something that will transmit the _Invisible Hand_ 's data to your Republic allies? You must think me very foolish.”

Grievous broke off, coughing violently, and hit the button once again. The agonising charge burst through every single nerve in Obi-Wan's body; it felt like his very bones were on fire and, instead of the spots of light that had danced before his eyes earlier, large circles of dark nothing pulsed in front of him.

Obi-Wan had trained for a lifetime not to be afraid of anything, but right now he feared he'd die before he was able to complete his mission.

After what felt like a hundred rotations, Grievous finally switched off the hated contraption.

Frustration was not the Jedi way but, as Obi-Wan gasped, shook and fought the urge to empty his stomach, he was about as close to frustration in that moment as he could ever remember being.

“Damn you, Grievous! What will it take to convince you? Please, just go and look at the information there. There's no plot, no weapon. Hardly anyone knows I'm here.”

Obi-Wan's irritation seemed only to further fuel Grievous' amusement. Certainly he was having more and more trouble repressing the hacking coughs that wracked him. He held up the chip in two long pointed fingers.

“So upset, Kenobi. Would it ruin your precious plans if I were to simply snap this before you?”

“ _No_!” Obi-Wan felt sick as Grievous so carefully exerted just enough pressure to make the thin chip bow almost imperceptibly. He had to stop him. “Sheelal! Don't!”

The very air in the room seemed to freeze. Grievous' head turned so fast on his neck that he'd certainly have snapped his spine, had he still possessed a real one.

“What.” Not even a question, just a whisper that escaped the vocal emitter that passed as a mouth. It had worked though. The data-chip was held securely in his fist, not snapped in two upon the floor. Grievous strode closer to the field and stood straight, almost at eye level with Obi-Wan. He spoke so quietly that Obi-Wan struggled not to miss his words.

“Where did you learn that name?” It came out almost as a hiss.

“Please,” replied Obi-Wan softly, once more. “Please just look at the data-chip.”

Grievous loomed so close to the containment field that Obi-Wan felt sure he would singe himself. He silently willed Grievous to do as he asked. In a very short space of time this had, for one reason or another, become about much more than just winning the war. Obi-Wan didn't know why, but it was suddenly very important to him that Grievous believed him; trusted him. Someone who had been let down so much in his life should have someone he could trust.

Abruptly Grievous turned on his heel and stormed from the room. “Watch him,” he barked over his shoulder at his guards. “Let no-one in.”

Once again Obi-Wan was left, alone and waiting.


	7. Errand Boy After All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once more for all your support.

**Chapter VI**   
**Errand Boy, After All**   
  
_Evil is not born, it is taught._

  
The detention cell door closed behind Grievous. While he had been with the Jedi the excess forces had returned to their assignments, and one of his droid captains had put in an appearance.

“General, sir. We have searched the entire ship as you requested: there is no trace of any other Jedi, or clone forces, sir.”

“Search again. The day I trust a Jedi will be the day I see sarlaccs fly,” snapped Grievous. “Continue with the training drills, and maintain course.”

“Roger, roger. Should I inform the fleet or Count Dooku about the captured Jedi, sir?”

Grievous paused, closing his fingers more tightly around the data-chip and Kenobi's lightsaber. “No, Captain. I shall do so myself,” he replied after some thought. “Dismissed.”

“Sir, yes sir!” The captain and his entourage turned and retreated to the bridge.

It might turn out to be a huge risk but Grievous wasn't yet sure he wanted the entire army aware of his unexpected guest; at least until he could determine what Kenobi was up to.

He turned to his elite. “You and you,” he pointed a claw at the two flanking the door, “remain here until I return, and do not allow anyone to enter or leave that cell.”

Both droids nodded and stood firmly at attention, staffs at the ready. Satisfied, Grievous strode off with his four remaining bodyguards for the nearest turbo lift.

  
  


  
  


Alighting at the top of the _Invisible Hand'_ s signature spire, he posted two MagnaGuards to remain outside his quarters while the final pair followed him inside. The great domed reception room, dominated by the large chair he occupied when viewing minor battles or training manoeuvres when not on the bridge, was sparsely decorated; Grievous did not linger there but stalked up the stairs to his private quarters. Leaving his remaining guards outside, he strode through his opulent reception room and into the enormous private bedroom. These rooms hadn't been designed with a seven-foot-tall cyborg in mind, but he had altered what he needed to (thankfully the ceiling was already high enough) and they suited his purposes well. In the centre of the room was a large grey pod in which Grievous rested and, sometimes, even managed to sleep. A large canopied bed, very rarely used, stood against one wall; the opposite housed computer consoles and a communication unit, and another, smaller door. A row of his luxurious quilted cloaks, a handful of personal keepsakes, a comfortable seating area in front of a large viewport, and his not inconsiderable lightsaber collection adorned the third wall. The array of lightsabers reminded him that Kenobi's weapon was still in his hand, and he snorted in amusement as he tucked it carefully into his cloak with its fellows.

Grievous powered up the console and seated himself as the smaller door slid open and a bronze medical droid tottered out.

“Ah, Master, you have returned early. Should I prepare some replacement parts?”

“Always so little faith in my abilities, Doctor,” Grievous replied scornfully, but there was no real spite in it. EV-A4-D was the only droid he ever allowed into his personal quarters (with the obvious exception of the cleaner droids), including his own MagnaGuards, who were under strict instructions never to enter beyond his private reception room without his express permission, which he had rarely seen the need to give.

He slid the data-chip into a port, hesitating for only a moment, as the droid retorted, “I was not, for once, criticising your fighting prowess, merely observing that sparring with those gladiator droids you tote around invariably keeps you busy far longer. And it certainly would not be the first time one of them has taken a limb.” He sounded quite reproachful.

“I can hardly judge their full abilities if I order them to hold back during their training sessions, can I?” said Grievous, watching the data load slowly on his screens. No power cuts, no alarms from the bridge yet – that was a good start. He didn't know what sort of weapon, if any, could be contained in such a small chip, but being overly cautious was no bad thing and had served him well in the past. He had opted, for caution's sake, to load the data on his personal terminal; it was not connected to the ship's systems and would therefore be unable to damage any aspect of the ship's operations.

“Well,” Ay-Four-Dee went on, oblivious to his master's immediate concerns, “I still do not understand why it is you who should test them, Master. Especially considering I am required to patch you up every five minutes. Why are you back so early?”

The droid had been constantly suspicious ever since Grievous had had him reassembled. It was an odd attribute in a droid, but one Grievous had learned to tolerate.

“They are the best,” said Grievous of his elite. “Who better for them to prove themselves against than me? Training was interrupted by the arrival of an unexpected guest.”

The computer emitted a small _ping_ , indicating that the data had fully loaded, and Grievous turned his attention to the screen. His personal mechanic and doctor huffed.

“A guest? What do they want? Are you going to tell me who it is?”

“No,” said Grievous shortly. “Now leave me be. I have important business that requires my attention.”

Muttering to himself, Ay-Four-Dee left the room as Grievous tapped the keys on his console to begin opening the files. The first thing he noticed was the name he had had in his old life. He was half-expecting it; that the Jedi knew this name had led him to suspect that one of these files involved him. He was, however, wrong; there wasn't one file about him.

They were all about him.

His past, years before the IGBC had even approached him. Names of those he had once fought with and believed he could trust, spies for Darth Sidious and Count Dooku. Good men and women he had tried to help, whose very lives he had saved in battle, all had been in the employ of the Sith Lords. He noted the relief he felt when he could find no evidence of deception from a single member of his esteemed Izvoshra. _They at least had remained faithful until the end_ , he thought ruefully.

Grievous was far from a fool. He had never trusted his new masters; as far as he was concerned, a Sith was just another sort of Jedi, and each was equally treacherous. He knew there was much they kept from him but this, _this_ was more than he could have imagined. He pored through file after file, watched seemingly endless transmissions from Dooku as he made reports, in his pompous tones, to his Master.

The cold anger, which had been churning inside him since Kenobi had spoken his name, began to boil, twisted and became an inferno. His hands, resting on the console top, were tightly clenched, and his eyes burned like fire.

Kenobi had once accused him of being Dooku's errand boy and now, here in front of him, was the proof. He did not doubt its authenticity for a moment. There were too many details, names and places, that could not be known any other way. His children were named, as were his wives, including details of their respective tribes and families. The transmissions too could not have been faked.

This was all he was then. Just another weapon in the Sith arsenal. And that was exactly how they spoke of him. A thing they exploited to further their cause. It was also abundantly clear that he would be considered dispensable should his usefulness wane or if, at some time, a scapegoat was required. In fact one report all but stated that, when his masters' plans came to fruition, he would cease to be their concern. His mind offered them a wealth of tactical knowledge and his body was a powerful siege weapon, and both would lose their worth the moment he won their war for them.

On and on it went. Grievous wanted to stop almost immediately, tear Kenobi's accursed data-chip from its port and destroy it, crush it in his powerful durasteel grip. But he didn't. He steeled himself and continued. Anger swelled further and turned to disgust and hatred.

Dooku reporting again to his Master. There was amusement in his voice as he told of Grievous' anger the day he had gifted Grievous that first lightsaber and called him “droid”. He reported that Grievous was predictable and easily provoked, that he would be easy to bend to whatever path they wished to set him upon. He spoke of the carvings of vanity Grievous had ordered engraved into his face plate and the duraplast plates of his body. Vanity markings like the ones adorning the bone mask Dooku held in his hand.

Vanity, Dooku called it. Vanity to etch the symbol of his family onto his new body; the only connection to his ancestors he had left. He'd believed the Mumuu skull mask, which had come to him from his father and had been passed down through the Sheelal line for many generations, had been lost in the Jenuwaa Sea after his crash; the symbols he'd had carved on himself, mockeries of the tribal tattoos, were one of the very few links he retained to his past life and his people, for whom he'd sacrificed everything. To hear the fallen Jedi Master turned Sith Apprentice dismiss his symbol as mere vanity filled Grievous with such a cold hatred he could placate it only by imagining himself tearing Dooku limb from limb.

But his familial battle mask had not been lost to the depths as he had long believed. No, Dooku had claimed that also. Seeing it clasped so carelessly in that filthy human's hand, Grievous made a vow to himself then and there. One day he would kill Count Dooku and reclaim the bone mask for his own.

Grievous had never felt any love for Count Dooku. In the beginning he had hated the man bitterly. He knew the human looked down on him and that sickened him. But over the years he had found a grudging, if somewhat forced, respect. Dooku was an excellent duellist and had trained Grievous well in the art of lightsaber battling. Even now they sparred often, although frequent enough mention was made of Dooku's Force lightning abilities to ensure Grievous held himself in check as they duelled. But Grievous knew that, when it came to it, he'd have little trouble emerging victorious. 

One particular transmission so incensed him that he had risen to prowl the room, wrenching a large ornamental table from its floor bolts in his fury and hurling it against an expanse of bare wall. He returned to his seat, slightly mollified by the shatter and splinter of the wood. It was a conversation between Dooku and San Hill, not long after the accident that left him so close to death – the accident _they_ had engineered, no less. Hill, in his smug tones, was detailing the conditions Grievous imposed upon his acceptance of the planned procedure.

“ _ He insists his mind is not to be meddled with, that it is to be left intact.”  _ He smiled nastily as Dooku frowned but before the human could speak Hill continued, “ _ Oh don't fear, Count. The Geonosians have technology to alter the mind and leave the, er...  _ patient _ none the wiser. Combined with the memory blockers and Rage Enhancer your little project will be quite the force to be reckoned with, and have no idea ever, who and what he really was.”  _

This conversation, possibly above all others, filled Grievous with an overwhelming rage the like of which he couldn't recall ever feeling. But that was the point, wasn't it? That was all Dooku and his Master planned for him from the beginning. No emotions but anger, rage and hatred. A perfect and conscienceless killing machine. 

It seemed never-ending. His life mapped out by puppeteers who had planned, enacted and recorded every little tug of his strings. Disgusting.

Finally, it came to an end. He stayed in his seat, hunkered low, glaring at a diagram of his body's inner workings that had been created well before the accident that necessitated his new physique. The tips of his claws had left deep gouges on the control board of his computer, but he could not remember making them. He remained motionless, deep in thought, the silence of his room broken only by his occasional wheezing. They all knew. San Hill with his patronising, supercilious attitude. Poggle the Lesser, and that ridiculous Wat Tambor; those disgusting and insipid Neimoidians. The whole hated lot of them. He had always despised them, known himself to be superior to them all. Not a single soldier among them, not one who could plan for victory in the battles they wanted won. They could do nothing, save sit on their privileged backsides and make mockery of him as they gorged on and squandered the spoils he fought to bring them.

They knew. They used him. And they laughed at him.

“ _DOCTOR_!” Grievous bellowed at last.

Moments later the medical droid tottered into the room.

“Master, I am only in the next room and _not_ on the engineering deck, and there is nothing wrong with my audio receptors.”

But Grievous was in no mood for the droid's pedantic observations. He stood in one sharp movement, throwing his chair halfway across the room as he did so.

“What do you know of this? Tell me!” he demanded. His personal medic had been only briefly documented, in copies of treatments Grievous required following his surgeries. There was no evidence that Ay-Four-Dee had been reporting on Grievous' daily doings to Dooku, but the Count had sent the droid into his employ and he needed to be sure. It would be a shame to have to have Ay-Four-Dee dismantled but, efficient as he was, the regime of spying ended here and now.

Ay-Four-Dee took in the remains of what had once been a very attractive dining table, stared at his master and for once chose not to comment. Had he been able to, he'd probably have raised an eyebrow. Instead he crossed to the screen Grievous indicated and lowered his cranial unit to inspect the contents. Producing a few of his many appendages, the droid reran and ingested, in less than three minutes, all the data that Grievous had spent the better part of two hours sifting through.

 _Were I_ _really_ _a droid_ , thought the General, _I'd be capable of that_.

Ay-Four-Dee straightened up and turned to face Grievous.

“How did you come by this information?” he asked.

“You haven't answered my question,” Grievous growled menacingly.

“I knew of your accident of course, and I was programmed with your personal specifications and needs before I was sent to you, but if you are asking whether I knew that Count Dooku and the Clan plotted to have you blown to smithereens then I can assure you, Master, that I was left quite in the dark.”

The blasted thing actually managed to sound rather put out.

“And now you are not 'in the dark'?”

“Oh, I am quite content with my current position as both your advisor and doctor. Though I tell you now, I do not do housework,” he added, casting another reproachful glance at the remains of the table. “Should that ever change though, you will, I assure you, be the first to know.”

Grievous narrowed his eyes but overall he was satisfied. It was the insufferable thing's own peculiar way of declaring his allegiance to Grievous.

Resisting the urge to crush the data-chip underfoot, Grievous lifted it from its port and, instead, placed it into one of the small pockets sewn in the lining of his cloak.

“So,” said Ay-Four-Dee as he watched Grievous' movements. “Does this have something to do with our unexpected guest?”

“Indeed,” answered Grievous as he thought.

“Hmm,” the droid pondered. “Who would benefit from furnishing you with this little bit of personal history? Perhaps Sidious intends you to dispose of Dooku for him. ”

“It was a Jedi,” Grievous snapped impatiently. He'd not get a moment's peace until he told the droid what he wanted to know, and he needed to think, to begin making plans.

“Ah yes, that was to be my next guess,” said Ay-Four-Dee, moving across the room in his lopsided gait to inspect the wall damaged by Grievous' flying table. “Have you killed it yet?” he asked as he idly picked at a patch of plaster and watched it join the pile on the carpet beneath.

“What?”

“The Jedi. Have you killed it yet?”

“No.” _The Jedi_. Of course. Kenobi knew everything. The anger he had felt when the Jedi had uttered his name was now a mere irritation by comparison.

So why _had_ Kenobi brought this to him? What did the Jedi have to gain from it? As though reading his mind, Ay-Four-Dee turned to face him.

“Perhaps they are hoping you will join the Republic now,” he said, watching his master's expression carefully.

“Unlikely.” Grievous scoffed at the notion. Surely even the Jedi were not that foolish.

“Well, they would not have given you that if they had nothing to gain from doing so.”

“You think I don't know that?”

The droid fell silent and watched his master think.

What _did_ the Jedi hope to gain from this? He was certain they knew he had no love for the Republic; in fact, they now most likely knew why. They probably realised too that Grievous would be keen to see the back of Count Dooku. Well, he was more than keen. Merely leaving the Count's employ would not satisfy Grievous, and he was not sure leaving was even possible. Only Dooku's death at his own hand would suffice. And then, the self-proclaimed Lord Sidious, the Master Puppeteer. Unpleasant as it was, Grievous was forced to concede that Sidious was doubtless far more powerful than he knew. Furthermore, he hadn't the first idea where to begin looking for the Sith Lord, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to try. After the Sith Lords there were the state heads of the CIS, quite secondary but they'd still have to go. The thought of choking the life from Gunray with his bare hands pleased him immensely. The end of the Sith and the CIS would, of course, align with the Jedi's wishes, but that made little difference to him. He couldn't help that he'd end up helping the Jedi, that was just the way things fell. Republic or Separatist rule made little difference to him.

But he was getting ahead of himself. First he needed to see to the Jedi in the brig.

“I have to go and deal with Kenobi,” he told Ay-Four-Dee, turning for the door.

“If I may say so, Master,” the droid caught his attention tentatively, “I would advise _against_ terminating General Kenobi just yet.”

“And why is that?”

“I just think he may be useful,” said the doctor enigmatically. “I daresay you find it as peculiar as I that they sent Master Kenobi alone –”

“We have no proof of that yet.”

“– and not one of their young knights instead? He must have known he would be caught. For now, at least, keep him alive. After all, he clearly is not here to kill you.”

“I can hardly let him live. He has seen those files; he knows everything!”

“So do I, Master, and you have not terminated me,” Ay-Four-Dee pointed out as Grievous strode towards the door.

“I haven't ruled it out yet, Doctor,” Grievous warned as the door slid shut behind him.

Sighing to himself, Ay-Four-Dee headed back to the debris of the table and began clearing up the splintered wood, shaking his head.

  
  



	8. An Overdue Apology

**Chapter VII  
** **An Overdue Apology  
  
** _ Choose what is right, not what is easy. _

  
  


Meanwhile, Obi-Wan remained trapped in his containment field. His shoulders ached from the prolonged suspension, the repeated shocks left his muscles cramped, his mouth throbbed terribly where he had bitten his tongue, and his neck and throat were bruising from Grievous' crushing taloned grip. He was also incredibly thirsty. But the physical hardships were nothing compared to the disconcerting sensation of being cut off so completely from the Force. A containment field was a Jedi's nightmare, completely smothering its occupant's ability to connect with the Force. It felt like losing a part of yourself that you had always known you couldn't live without. Obi-Wan found himself unable even to meditate.

What he was currently finding particularly irksome was the fact that he simply couldn't sense General Grievous. By now he'd have had plenty of time to review the data-chip's contents.With so few biological beings on board Obi-Wan was sure that, however far away the General was, he would have no trouble divining his feelings. But it was useless to ponder that now. All he could do was wait and see.

Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile a little as he imagined Anakin's reaction if he were to learn of his old Master's struggle with patience, considering the difficulty he had had trying to grasp the lesson. Thinking of his former Padawan, Obi-Wan suddenly realised that, for the first time since the war began, he wouldn't be able to count on Anakin coming to help him. The thought made him feel strangely alone. He began to wonder if Anakin knew yet of his absence, then, with an effort, he shook himself mentally. All this worrying was what he had trained against his whole life. Surely it was just being cut off from the Force that was making him feel so uneasy.

For lack of anything better to do he looked around his cell for quite possibly the hundredth time. It was a regular starship brig, albeit larger than usual. A threadbare cot, a basin, the containment field generators, and the door. And, of course, those two huge droids. Red eyes glowed unblinkingly. The IG units were similar to assassin droids but even more deadly. They were also the only droids Obi-Wan had even seen that wore clothes. He had never really noticed until now (though until now he'd never paid much attention to their attire; he'd always been more focussed on staying alive), but it was a rather strange quirk on Grievous' part. 

  
  


  
  


Grievous was pacing up and down the length of the meeting room's vast viewport, idly watching hundreds of his droid starfighters practising manoeuvrers. Individual battle droids were useless, but in the numbers he commanded? They were unstoppable. He was proud of his army. Of course, living soldiers had benefits that droids lacked, but it would have been impossible to gather the same numbers as he now had, and real men were not so easily replaced. Throughout the galaxy he commanded more than one million droids and of this he was very proud. No-one before him had ever had command of so many. He and his army had won hundreds of battles, and this was why he fought for the Separatists. No other force in the galaxy could offer a mind like his such an opportunity. He couldn't care less for the Sith's cause, no more than he cared for the Republic's; he wasn't here for the politics, he was simply here to win. To prove to all that he, Supreme Commander of the largest army in existence, was the best there was. The fiercest warrior, the strongest leader and the greatest General to have ever lived. He proved that to himself, his superiors, and his troops every day, with every battle he emerged victorious from.

The Jedi claimed to be the best fighters in the galaxy, but one had only to study Grievous' lightsaber collection to see how many times he had bested the best. He would indeed be sorry to walk away from this, but he would not be used as he had. His treatment was unacceptable; he both demanded and deserved to be treated with respect. He had earned that right in his life, he raged to himself, a thousand times over. He knew that to Dooku it was a simple matter of species. The old Count droned on often enough about Humans being the perfect race, as though anything and anyone non-human was of a lower class. He would change that perception when he defeated Dooku.

His mind played and replayed the reports from the Muun doctors about their “experiment”; Dooku's reports about the “specimen” and how it was “adapting”; the spy reports trying to find and exploit his weaknesses; the plot to have his ship and his bodyguards destroyed. He continued to storm up and down furiously, watched only by his guards.

And that was something else he couldn't get out of his mind – literally, as it turned out. All the reports and diagrams detailing the implants and wires that had been fused into his living brain. He knew there were a few enhancements – there had to be for him to control the movement of his artificial body – but never to this extent. True, he could not recall his temper raging through his younger self the way it raged through him now; indeed he had been well known, before the changes, for his cool-headedness and careful thinking. Before the changes. Was all this anger he felt now truly his, or was it a fabrication? There was no evidence either way that the implants could be removed, the procedure on his brain reversed, but it was something he needed to find out. If his current personality and state of mind was something Sidious had desired, then it was not something he wanted. And Hill had mentioned memory blockers too; what was so important that they needed him to forget?

Enough procrastinating. He'd deal with each problem as fully as he could later. For now he needed to make sure Kenobi's story checked out, and then go and speak with him. Among other things, he sorely wanted to know how many others knew about him and how the Jedi Order had found out. Kenobi had said not many knew he was there. What had he meant by that?

He stalked to the door, which slid open for him. Outside his MagnaGuards stood to attention.

“Sir,” said one in its deep mechanical tones. “The captain reports that the ship has been searched thoroughly from top to bottom. No sign of other intruders. The Jedi's story checks out.”

 _An honest Jedi? Unlikely, but we shall see._ “Very well. Tell the captain that no-one aboard this ship is to report Kenobi's presence here to anyone. And I mean ANYONE! That is a direct order.” Grievous was firm. He wanted no chance of word getting back to Dooku, at least not until he could fabricate a likely story for Kenobi's presence; the longer he had to make his plans, the better. “And tell the bridge commander to be on the lookout for any enemy vessels anywhere in the nearby sectors, no matter how small.”

The MagnaGuard nodded once, then fell into step behind Grievous, relaying its messages as it followed him to the turbolift.

  
  


  
  


Grievous entered Obi-Wan's cell alone, dismissing the two guards who'd been Obi-Wan's only company. Much to Obi-Wan's relief, the cyborg remained hunched by the door instead of approaching the control panel. He didn't much want to be shocked again, even though he he knew it was probably unavoidable.

The silence stretched out between them as they stared at one another. Obi-Wan, searching the piercing eyes for a clue, would have given anything to know what was in the General's mind at that moment. Stillness filled the room, the hush so prolonged it made Obi-Wan feel quite uncomfortable. If Grievous was not going to speak...

“Your guards aren't very chatty are they?”

Golden eyes narrowed in Obi-Wan's direction but, much to hissurprise, Grievous replied, “I prefer them that way.”

“An army of those instead of battle droids, and you'd probably have won by now.” Even as Obi-Wan said this, he realised with a chill it was probably true. He'd fought against them many times and they were extremely fierce.

This time Grievous ignored him. “Where did you get it?”

 _Straight to the point after all._ “A squad of clone troopers infiltrated Dooku's home for... other information. They found that instead.” Obi-Wan saw no reason to lie.

Despite himself, Grievous was impressed. He had been to Serenno Castle many times and knew it to be a well-guarded fortress; breaking in would have been no easy feat. “Who else knows?”

“Two other Jedi. Only one clone made it out alive, although he was fatally injured.”

“Their names.” This was more a demand than a question.

“They'll tell no-one; their names really aren't important.”

This was not the answer Grievous wanted. The simmering anger he'd been trying so hard to keep in check since leaving his quarters rose to the surface again. Moving faster than an organic being could have hoped to, his fist hit the button on the control panel. Before Obi-Wan had a chance to prepare himself the current was ripping through his body again. From the depths of his agony he could see Grievous watching him. The charge lasted far longer than before, and Obi-Wan was unable to suppress his screams – it felt like every nerve was being torn from his body. The edges of his vision began to fade to black, and in the back of his mind, behind the pain, Obi-Wan welcomed the oncoming oblivion of unconsciousness.

But that was not to be. At the moment he felt himself starting to fall away, Grievous released the button and ended the assault. The sweat began to cool at once, leaving Obi-Wan shaking as much from the chill as from the after-effects of the current that still jolted him. When he was finally able to raise his head enough to look at Grievous, he struggled to focus clearly on the General.

“Their names.” The neutral tone was gone now; a definite growl laced the repeated demand.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to answer but all that came out was a sort of croak. He tried to wet his mouth, swallowing with difficulty, before attempting to reply again. “Why does it matter?” he managed to rasp. Oh, what he'd give for a cup of water at that moment.

“Because I wish to know!” snarled Grievous. “That, _Jedi_ , is reason enough. I can keep this up far longer than you. Give me the names of the Jedi. One will be that small green leader of yours, so who is the other?”

Grievous' clawed hand stretched out and hovered over the button, clearly giving Obi-Wan a moment to decide if he'd answer. Would there be any harm in given him Windu's name? Mace was safely tucked away at the Temple on Coruscant and was extremely capable of taking care of himself. But it still felt like a betrayal as he whispered, “Master Windu”, his eyes falling to the floor.

“That wasn't so difficult, was it?” said Grievous, storing the information away for a later time. “And what of the rest of your wretched Council?”

Obi-Wan raised his head wearily and met Grievous' gaze once again. “They were told Dooku was responsible for your... accident. And they elected me for this mission. No-one else knows I'm here nor did I tell them my plans to get here.”

Grievous did not respond. Time ticked by and silence stretched between them again until Obi-Wan asked, “Are you going to kill me now?”

The question sounded more like one of curiosity than of fear to Grievous' audio receptors and perhaps it was. For all the Jedi he had defeated it was not often that he sensed any real fear coming from them, at least, not usually until those last few moments when they realised they had lost. Grievous thought before answering, replaying Ay-Four-Dee's words in his head.

“No. Not just yet, Jedi.”

The whole situation felt somehow surreal to Obi-Wan as he hung suspended in the air. Grievous had not reacted the way he had expected him to at all. He had thought the General would come storming in, denying the truth of it all, shouting that it was a Jedi plot, a trick. But there had been none of that. He was feeling more uncomfortable with each passing second.

“I'm sorry.” It was Obi-Wan's turn to surprise Grievous now.

Grievous straightened up defensively. “For what?” he spat. “For being foolish enough to be captured?” Grievous knew that was not what the Jedi was apologising for but he wasn't certain the path indicated by this subject was one he wished to tread. However, curiosity (one of the few emotions left to him, it would seem) got the better of him and he waited for the Jedi's response.

“I could have made sure that data got to you by other means,but I chose to bring it to you myself. I knew I'd be captured.” Obi-Wan paused, trying vainly to moisten his parched mouth, before continuing, “I'm sorry for what happened to you and to your people. It wasn't right.”

Grievous almost scoffed. What game was Kenobi playing now? They were enemies first and foremost, had always been, since before they had even met. Soldiers on opposite sides of the greatest war the galaxy had known since the long ago time of the Old Republic. But that aside, the man was a Jedi, one of the very people who had helped commit the atrocities against his home and his kin.

“You're sorry.”

The words were uttered so quietly that Obi-Wan almost didn't hear them. He knew it hadn't been a question but replied all the same.

“Yes, I'm truly sorry. The Jedi Order _should_ be there to help those who need it, regardless of their allegiance. Kalee did nothing to deserve the suffering forced on it,” here he looked earnestly at Grievous, “and neither did you.” Obi-Wan's words were genuinely meant, and he wished very much that Grievous could know that. Even after the pains Grievous had inflicted upon him, the injustice of it all still rankled. Again Obi-Wan found himself wondering how different a man Grievous had been before and if there was a possibility, with the removal of his brain implants, of him being that man again. Obi-Wan couldn't help but think how he'd like the opportunity to find out. If he lived long enough.

“Have you ever visited Kalee?” Grievous countered. Obi-Wan didn't need to be able to sense Grievous' anger: this time he could see it. Grievous' eyes were the only organic parts of him left on show and they were terribly expressive. Now they were were narrowed to slits, burning. Obi-Wan almost expected to feel the heat from them.

“No,” he answered. “Though I have met a few of your people.” This much was true. There had been Kaleesh representatives at various diplomatic functions he had been forced to attend, and he'd also met travellers on various planets, usually in the Outer Rim. Other than the exchanging of pleasantries, goods, or information, he'd had very little to do with them personally, but whenever he had dealt with the reptilian people from the General's home planet they had all come across the same way: immensely proud people, strong and fierce. Again he thought about what it must have cost those people to ask for help, and how demeaning it must have been to be refused not just once, but twice.

“Then you know NOTHING, Jedi!” Grievous' sudden increase in volume startled Obi-Wan as if he had been shocked again. “The war against Kalee cost its people – MY people – more than any outsider could even begin to understand. And do you know who was responsible for most of that? For the very worst of it!”

Obi-Wan did know. He knew, and he was ashamed. “The Jedi,” he said softly.

“The Jedi!” Grievous affirmed. “Millions starved to death. Do you know what thousands and thousands of decaying bodies smells like, _Jedi_?” The word seemed to hold more venom every time Grievous said it but, as he said it this time, he slammed his fist onto the charge button, activating the beam that tore through Obi-Wan. The setting had been increased again and Obi-Wan didn't even try to mask his agony as he screamed. Faintly, over his own voice, he could hear the bellowing roar of General Grievous as he too vocalised his pain and rage. Just when he thought his lungs would explode and the rest of his body could endure no more, Grievous released the button.

Obi-Wan could hear the blood pounding in his ears. Coupled with the fading echoes of their screams, it made the room seem more silent than ever. The only sounds were the deep gasping breaths and wheezes from both men as each fought to regain his breath.

“Your precious Order did more damage than those soulless bugs,” Grievous added at length. His voice was low again, but he may as well have shouted that too.

Still panting, heart and mind racing, Obi-Wan couldn't begin to imagine even a part of it. He was ashamed to admit that he actually knew very little about Kalee. It was not part of the Republic, and so not really a concern of the Jedi. What he did know was that it was heavily populated, not particularly technologically advanced compared to its neighbouring planets, and its various tribes were often engaged in minor civil wars with each other for territory and resources. Of the war with the Yam'rii from Huk he knew even less, and now he was paying for his ignorance.

“I don't blame you for hating us, or for hating me,” rasped Obi-Wan, his voice so quiet that had Grievous been an ordinary man without enhanced hearing he'd not have known the Jedi spoke. “I wish I'd known, and that I could change it.” There was no trace of a lie in his words. An entire planet on the brink of being slowly starved and slaved to death and he, however indirectly, was partly to blame. The Jedi stood together, in their wrongs as well as in their rights, it seemed.

This admission received no reply save for the heavy fall of Grievous' footsteps. Obi-Wan looked up just in time to see the door slide shut behind him as he left the cell, leaving Obi-Wan alone again.

  
  


  
  



	9. Decisive Action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the shortness of this Chapter. I had to have surgery and am high as a kite on painkillers. I'll nag my fabulous Beta to sort out and get the next chapter out for you all very soon. Thank you for hanging in there with me!

**Chapter VIII  
** **Decisive Action** _**  
  
** _ _When your path is blocked, a useful ally can your enemy be._

_  
_ Grievous spent the rest of the day on the ship's bridge. He may have made up his mind to walk away from the Separatists, but making the decision did not grant him the ability to carry it out immediately, and he still had duties to attend to. He listened to battle reports, requests for more troops in this sector or that, oversaw training drills, as well as performing numerous other mundane tasks to try and keep his mind busy and away from his home, Dooku and that damned Jedi. But it seemed it was no use. Even as he listened to a report from one of his captains, his mind wandered back down to the cell.

Kenobi was by far the strangest Jedi he'd ever met. Any other Jedi would have told him that he deserved his fate, that it was he who brought about Kalee's suffering by taking his revenge on the Huk. Many of the Jedi he had slain in battle had sworn with their dying breaths that they would be avenged by their Order. After all, creatures like Grievous were soulless, pure evil. It was the job of the Jedi, they told him, to eradicate beings like him. But not Kenobi. Even when they had battled, Kenobi treated him as an equal on the field. They were two Generals, each trying to get the upper hand, nothing more, nothing less. The destruction of one meant victory for the other. And Kenobi had even apologised for what had happened, not just to the Kaleesh but to Grievous personally. _It wasn't right,_ the Jedi had said. Grievous had been taken aback by that. Why should the Jedi care about a planet he didn't know or understand? What was more, there had been _pity_ on the man's face, and in his voice, when he spoke. Grievous neither wanted nor needed his pity, but all the same, it unsettled him.

Grievous pondered what Ay-Four-Dee had said about keeping Kenobi alive and was finally forced to agree, if for no other reason than his curiosity had been piqued. But what to do with him? Vexed and discomfited, Grievous dismissed the captain, handed over control of the bridge, and set off for his quarters with his ever-present guards in tow. There was one thing he needed to find out before he did anything else, and he was keen to get underway.

  
  


  
  


“ _Doctor_!” Without waiting for a reply Grievous strode into his room, crossed to the opposite door and entered what Ay-Four-Dee considered _his_ domain. This was the room that Grievous had had altered the most for his needs and it was where the droid spent most of his time. Hundreds of replicas of Grievous' mechanical arms, legs, hands, armour plates, and even full face plates lined the wall in neat rows and on racks. Tools, used by Ay-Four-Dee to patch up or repair his master in some way, were arranged on shelves. Blood and other fluids Grievous sometimes needed to transfuse were stored in a temperature-controlled locker. There was also a large refresher area, altered so Grievous could ensure all his parts and platings remained spotless after he had been training or battling. All in all the room looked like a mechanic's workshop crossed with a medical bay, containing everything that Grievous required to function smoothly.

“Ah, Master. Back so soon?”

“Don't start. I need to speak to you about a serious matter.” Grievous was in no mood for the antics of his self-proclaimed 'advisor'.

“You want to know if the personality procedures on your brain can be reversed,” Ay-Four-Dee stated knowingly.

“How–?”

“I am a doctor, Master, not an idiot. It stands to reason: if one has had his mind meddled with, how can one know his thoughts and actions are his own? Better to find out and make sure before he takes any actions he may regret later, I would wager,” said the droid, displaying his usual irritating insight.

Grievous stepped forward, his greater height allowing him to loom over Ay-Four-Dee. He didn't really know why he bothered; he'd never been able to intimidate the droid. He supposed it was probably a habit. “Can it be done?”

Ay-Four-Dee turned his back on his master and crossed to his own terminal, where he began calling up an array of equations and holoimages. As he typed he said, “It would certainly be a risky procedure. There would be no room for error, and I make no promises that it will be a complete personality restoration but, in theory, it should be reversible.”

“What sort of risks?”

“Anything from brain-dead to completely dead.”

“You are an insolent pile of scrap metal!” Grievous snapped. “Be more specific.”

“I have analysed all data known to me, and predict your chance of survival to be fifty-eight per cent.” Ay-Four-Dee produced lists of mathematical formulae and calculations – he really had been quite busy. “But I would like to get your cranial unit thoroughly scanned so I can see precisely what we have to work with; that will enable me to determine more precisely what is going on in there.” He spun round to face Grievous. “If we run the scans now I will have time to study them and fully recharge. We can begin first thing in the morning. That will give _you_ plenty of time to get some rest too. You will need it,” he finished sternly.

Grievous didn't comment on Ay-Four-Dee's conviction that his master would choose to have the operation. The damned droid knew him too well. In silence, Grievous submitted to the scans. He held no fear of dying, which had nothing to do with a chip in his brain. He'd been a soldier all his life and had faced death countless times. He had only two regrets. The first was the manner of death. There was no honour in drifting off to sleep on an operating table and never waking again – his death should be in glorious battle. The second was Dooku. He couldn't bear the thought of dying before he had seen the end of the traitorous old turncoat. Ironically though, Grievous needed to face Dooku as himself and not the thing he had been made. He wanted his mind and his memories back.

Scans completed, Grievous stood and looked at the screen displaying the images of his brain. Seeing it now, he was amazed he had never realised the extent of the work that had been done. Dozens of areas lit up in every image on show. A low growl rose in his throat as he scowled at the display.

“It looks worse than it really is,” said Ay-Four-Dee in response to the noise, tapping away as he flicked through image after image. “All these wires here, for example, in the occipital lobe are to upgrade your visual cortex; removing these now would more than likely leave you nearly blind. The same over here,” he pointed to another region. “This is your auditory system. Your hearing must be far superior to that of most other species in the galaxy. And if we look at this scan of your frontal lobe, both left and right sides have these large matching chips to enhance motor function; this is how you are able to control the movements of this body as well as you do. I really do need to study these further so I can discern which implants are there to block and which to enhance.”

The compliments to Grievous' superiority placated him, as Ay-Four-Dee had known they would. All to the good; he needed his master in the best mood possible before he was forced to deliver the bad news. “The chances of survival do look promising, Master. However...” he trailed off, trying to work out a way to word the next sentence that would allow him to keep his head. Grievous gave him a compelling look, forcing him to continue. “Well, Master, my main concern is that you simply will not be able to cope with having all your emotions restored to you.”

Grievous' eyes narrowed even further.

“That is not a criticism of your character, Master. I am not sure _any_ mind would be able to take the stress. The work you have already undergone has never been attempted before – your survival is a miracle – which means that _undoing_ the work is entirely untested, and we cannot know what the result will be. You could end up completely brain-dead or mentally impaired. There is simply no way of knowing, Master.”

Grievous was silent as he digested this. Alive but stuck inside his own body? Unacceptable. If it came to that he'd have Ay-Four-Dee end his life. For all he knew he could have been living with an impaired brain ever since his accident and the corporeal and cerebral changes that followed. He had no way of knowing until it happened. _It's worth the risk_ , he told himself.

Ay-Four-Dee watched Grievous carefully as he considered what he'd been told. That had been the bad news but, unfortunately, what needed to be said now was far worse. “I believe there is something that could be done to greatly improve your chances though, Master. I am confident I can remove what needs removing without issue, but I do not have the means to monitor or treat any problems your mind develops as it adjusts to the change.”

“But you just said –”

“What I _said_ , Master,” interrupted the obstinate droid, knowing exactly what his master was going to say, “was that something _could_ be done, but not by me or you.”

“What are you talking about? There are no other doctors or mechanics with your capabilities on-board, or in the rest of the fleet for that matter. Believe me when I say that's the _only_ reason I haven't yet had you thrown into the trash compactor.” Grievous was growing impatient with the doctor's semantics.

Ignoring the most back-handed compliment he had received in all his years of service, Ay-Four-Dee continued. “What we require, Master, is someone who has the ability to feel their way into your mind and read your emotions, someone who will be able to sense if your mind begins to struggle and is able to help calm it.” He waited for a count of twenty seconds and, seeing that Grievous still had no idea what he meant, went on, “For example, someone nearby who has proved they mean you no ill will and has abilities that involve sensing and controlling emotions.”

They spoke at the same moment.

“You can't possibly mean–” began Grievous.

“Someone like–” said Ay-Four-Dee.

Then, both together: “Kenobi.”

  
  



	10. A Civilised Meeting, An Odd Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Overdue, but here as promised.  
> Thank you again for the wonderful comments.

**Chapter IX  
** **A Civilised Meeting, An Odd Proposal  
  
** _Easy isn't always simple._   
  
  


“You must have even more circuits crossed than I thought.” Grievous actually let out one of his throaty laughs. “This is a joke?”

“I am completely serious. That Jedi is your best hope of success. I suggest you make sure he is well-rested in time for the operation; he will need his strength. If we are to get you through this with your mind in one piece, he will have a _lot_ of work to do.”

“You can't be serious! If I am incapacitated on an operating table he'll take the first chance he sees to kill me.”

“You and I both know that is _not_ true. If he wanted you dead he would not have gone to the lengths he has,” the doctor huffed impatiently. “The chance of your pulling through this without his help is so low as to be non-existent.”

“I will NOT ask a Jedi for help,” Grievous hissed at the droid. “NEVER!”

“You are behaving like a petulant infant. We are talking about preventing your imminent demise.” Ay-Four-Dee looked at him quizzically. “Surely you have no wish to die?”

Grievous merely growled in the doctor's face, turned on his heel and stormed from the lab into his own room. When the doctor followed him through he was staring out of the viewport.

“If I might say,” Ay-Four-Dee began, making sure there was a safe amount of space between him and his master. “From a psychological point of view, you are dealing with this news extraordinarily well.”

“Am I though?” answered Grievous. “Or do I have no choice? According to _that_ ,” he jabbed a finger towards his computer console, “I am _only_ capable of dealing with anything in a hostile manner.”

“Well, the only casualty so far is that lovely Muun dining table, which for you shows great restraint. The rest will not be answered until after the procedure. And I cannot operate on you without _someone_ there to treat your mind. The only other person I would suggest is Dooku, but I doubt you plan on telling him of your recent enlightenment just yet.”

“No. Not just yet.” Grievous turned his back on the Separatist cruiser he'd been watching. “But I cannot and will not ask for the help of a Jedi.”

“Then, if you insist on the implant removal, by this time tomorrow you will most likely be worse than dead.”

“I've never known you to be so lacking confidence in your abilities, Doctor,” Grievous retaliated. The truth was that he _did_ insist; if this could somehow improve his chances of taking on Dooku in his right mind – his _real_ mind – then it was a risk he was willing to take. He didn't say so but, privately, he agreed with Ay-Four-Dee that his prisoner had no plans to kill him. Kenobi was a strange one, even by Jedi standards, but that didn't change the fact that Grievous would rather die than ask for the Jedi's help.

“My abilities are the only reason you will survive the procedure. It is the fragility of your organic mind in question. It is simply not complex enough to cope with the emotional onslaught.” The offended tone in Ay-Four-Dee's voice was plain, but eventually he quailed under Grievous' silent glare. “Very well. Have the guards bring him up here and _I_ will speak with the Jedi while _you_ get some rest,” he said, pointing firmly at the sleeping pod.

  
  


  
  


Obi-Wan had been slipping in and out of consciousness ever since Grievous had left the cell, so when the door opened it took a few seconds for his brain to process the sound. He just managed, painfully, to lift his head in time to see four MagnaGuards halt around his containment field. The one directly in his line of vision had stopped in front of the field's control panel. Numbly, Obi-Wan wondered if this was to be his execution.

The droid at the panel said, “You are to come with us. Your presence is required.”

Obi-Wan had no recollection of ever hearing one of these droids speak before – indeed, he had wondered if they were mute – and was startled by the deep resonant tone, so different compared to other droids he knew. The guard tapped a few buttons and the containment field mercifully dropped, as did Obi-Wan. Completely weakened, he crumpled onto the platform and, before he could catch himself, rolled off the side and onto the floor. Even though he had been in constant battle over the last few years he couldn't remember the last time his entire body had hurt so much. He tried to push himself up into a sitting position but to his embarrassment his arms, painfully cramped from being held in the air all day, felt simply too weak. Before he had a chance to try again, two of the large droids loomed over him, deftly removed his cuffs then picked him up between them, holding his upper arms in vice-like grips. It was painful but at least he was upright, even if he couldn't quite get his feet under him.

“Required where? And for what?” he managed to ask the first guard, but either his voice was even quieter than he thought or the guard simply chose to ignore him, as he received no answer.

The droids took him from his cell and headed towards a turbolift. Before they were halfway, Obi-Wan had given up trying to gather his feet beneath him and and simply allowed them to prop him up and drag him. Physically exhausted as he was, his mind whirled as the lift ascended. Where were they taking him? To his execution? Had Grievous decided it was all a lie and summoned Dooku to deal with him? Again, he found himself lacking the patience he regularly preached as they passed floor after floor.

When the lift stopped, he noted with trepidation that they had arrived at the topmost level of the cruiser. _The bridge?_ Obi-Wan wondered, but apparently not. The door slid open to reveal a massive room, where a huge window framed a large lone chair, but that was not to be their destination. The guards had given up any hope that Obi-Wan might walk on his own and now carried him up a flight of stairs, the trailing toes of his boots occasionally grazing the floor.

They reached a large door with a panel set into the wall beside it, into which the lead guard punched a code. The door opened to reveal a room so comfortable and luxurious in appearance that it seemed quite out of place on the ship. Obi-Wan was dropped onto a sofa with cushions so soft he sank into them and there the guards left him, retreating without a word through the door which closed and locked behind them with a beep.

This room was so at odds with everything Obi-Wan had ever seen on a warship that he couldn't help but study his surroundings. His attention completely captured, he failed to notice another door opening. A lanky bronze medical droid tottered in, a small tray held in two of his hands.

“There is little food matter suitable for humans on board,” the droid announced without preamble, “and what we have is not fresh. Certainly nothing you would consider palatable, at any rate.”

Startled, Obi-Wan made to get to his feet to face the newcomer, but his muscles refused to oblige.

“Count Dooku always brings his own supplies, and his own cook. We rarely need to cater to organic guests, and I doubt you would enjoy what the Neimoidian crew members eat,” continued the droid, placing the tray in front of Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan saw a pitcher of water and a small bowl of nuts and dried fruits and his stomach growled appreciatively at the sight, although he refrained from reaching for the tray. He opened his mouth, preparing to phrase a question, but before he could form the words the droid spoke again.

“I can assure you, Master Jedi, that I have no intention of poisoning you. The food is quite safe. Besides, if I wanted you dead I would be perfectly capable of designing a far more thrilling end for you.”

Obi-Wan wasn't sure whether or not to be amused, but he certainly was most bemused by the situation. Strangely reassured, however, he covered his confusion by reaching for the pitcher to pour himself a cup of water, but his hands were shaking so badly that he spilled most of the water on the tray.

“Oh dear me, perhaps my Master has been less restrained than I thought,” said the droid, pouring the water and passing the cup to Obi-Wan, who took it gratefully with both hands and raised it slowly to his lips. He took a few small careful sips, sighing with relief as the liquid soothed his throat, which was so parched and sore he felt as though he'd been forced to eat half the Dune Sea. By the time he'd emptied the cup he was feeling refreshed enough to carefully pour himself a second drink, and after finishing that he turned his attention to the bowl of food.

The droid sat down on the other side of the small table and proceeded to scrutinise Obi-Wan as though the Jedi was a particularly fascinating laboratory specimen.

After Obi-Wan had finished eating, though still exhausted and sore all over, he was feeling far better than he had. He poured another cup of water and leant back among the cushions to drink it slowly.

“I did not introduce myself,” said the peculiar droid. “I am EV-A4-D, but you may call me 'Doctor'. I am General Grievous' physician, mechanic, and personal advisor.” There was a definite note of pride in his voice, Obi-Wan noticed.

“A pleasure to meet you, Doctor. I am Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi,” said Obi-Wan. “And thank you for the food and water, it was most welcome.”

“Oh, I know who you are, Jedi. My Master has often spoken of you. It is interesting to finally meet you, although I had expected you to be much bigger. There are not many who have been able to match my Master in battle.”

Obi-Wan raised his brow at the comment but merely said, “Pardon me for being rude, but why am I here?”

“Straight to the point. My Master wishes to see if his previous personality can be retrieved and has asked me to perform the necessary operation. I have scanned and analysed all the implants and rewiring and I am confident that I can remove what needs removing. Providing there are no unforeseen complications, there is a seventy-two point eight-six-two per cent chance he will survive. The problem I cannot attend to lies within his mind, rather than his brain.”

Obi-Wan listened intently. Ever since he'd discovered that the cyborg's personality was an altered one he had harboured a desire to see the process undone, to see Grievous returned to that brave warrior on Kalee. But what could it possibly have to do with him?

Ay-Four-Dee continued, “The General has become used to experiencing a very small range of emotions, all of them connected to his rage. The sudden release of so many different emotions will be completely overwhelming, not to mention the restoration of any and all memories he has been cut off from. I believe it will be so great a shock that his brain will simply shut down.”

“So you're saying his own emotions will kill him?” Obi-Wan asked in horror. “Does this mean you can't perform the surgery?”

“General Grievous is adamant he will have the surgery, even if it does kill him. He is incredibly stubborn. But it will not end his life; rather, it will destroy his brain. There is, however, one thing that could save him.” The droid studied the Jedi's face intently as he said, “You.”

Obi-Wan was truly astounded. He had believed he was being brought to his execution and instead he was being asked to save the life of one of the Republic's greatest enemies. The thought flitted through his mind that, in his place, many would use this chance to end Grievous' life, but that was not what he had come here to do. Besides, he found the whole idea of an assassination quite uncivilised. Grievous may have committed serious offences under Dooku's command, not to mention all the Jedi he had killed in his quest for revenge, but Obi-Wan believed in second chances and if anyone deserved one, it was General Grievous.

“How can I help?” he asked seriously.

The doctor proceeded to explain his plan to the Jedi as he had to Grievous, and Obi-Wan nodded in agreement at his words. It was a sound idea; Obi-Wan had never had any trouble reading the Force around Grievous whenever they had confronted one another, so slipping into his mind shouldn't be too difficult. _As long as he doesn't put up too much resistance._ Helping to influence someone's emotions required a technique similar to that of Jedi mind tricks, a practise that only worked on weak-minded individuals. Somehow Obi-Wan was certain that Grievous would easily be able to resist mind trick influence.

“Well, I can make no promises there,” Ay-Four-Dee confessed when Obi-Wan mentioned this. “He was more than a little opposed to the idea, but I have managed to convince him that this is his best hope for survival.”

With a pang, Obi-Wan tried to imagine how humiliating it must be for Grievous to need his help. Knowing that Obi-Wan was privy to so much of his personal history, he must have been seething at the thought of giving Obi-Wan so much power over him, the power to say 'no' and let him down, as the Jedi always had done... until now.

Oblivious to Obi-Wan's inner musings the little bronze doctor continued, “There is another problem though, which I have not mentioned to the General. The brain is an incredibly complex piece of equipment and it will not be as straightforward as simply blocking and unblocking his emotions and his memories. Emotions are linked to many different aspects: thoughts, feelings and, most importantly in this case, memories. Now we know, or at least we hope, that this procedure will return to the General all the memories that were taken from him when he became a cyborg; all his memories since then will, of course, remain. It is quite possible that many of the decisions he has made and actions he has taken would have had vastly different outcomes without the RE and the blockers. There is a high probability he will have an attack of – what is it you organics call it? – conscience.”

The meaning of Ay-Four-Dee's words struck Obi-Wan instantly. Grievous was an absolutely ruthless General. He had ordered the deaths of hundreds of thousands during his time in command, many of those innocents. Would the actions of General Grievous have been the actions of Qymaen jai Sheelal? From what Obi-Wan had learned he was willing to wager that the hero of Kalee would not have behaved in such a way, so it was undoubtedly the work of whatever programming had been placed in Grievous. How _would_ it feel to have spent years, free from conscience, committing such heinous acts, only to suddenly be confronted with the reality of it all? Trying to imagine it made Obi-Wan feel quite unwell.

Ay-Four-Dee had no trouble reading his expression. “So you understand now why my Master will need your support?”

“Yes, and I will help in what way I can,” Obi-Wan said honestly, unease creeping in. He wasn't sure that the droid trusted him but he was obviously close to Grievous, a peculiarity in itself. Obi-Wan had witnessed first-hand Grievous' obvious disdain for droids, yet this one seemed to have a rather different relationship with his master.

“Then you should know that this task is unlikely to be completed quickly. The General will need your abilities for the foreseeable future, until he learns how to manage his mind himself again. It is that or irreparable brain damage.”

Now _this_ was a surprise to Obi-Wan. He felt more shocked by this proposition than by the idea of Grievous accepting help from a Jedi. Spend prolonged time with Grievous? For how long? Days? Weeks?! He had to get back to Coruscant, then to his troops, Anakin and the war. He may have started the ball rolling in shutting down the fighting but it wouldn't be immediate and there was still much that he was needed for. No wonder the clever droid hadn't told Grievous; if Obi-Wan was hesitant, Grievous would be positively fuming.

The droid saw the disconcerted expression on the Jedi's face. Shrewdly he remarked, “Really we are quite fortunate that it was a Jedi of such prodigiousness chosen for this errand. Anyone weaker would have been of no use to the General. In fact, I foresaw your part in this from the moment my Master showed me what you had brought him.” He watched Obi-Wan's reactions closely as his words sank in. “Of course, before he told me he wished to undergo the procedure it was rather difficult to convince him to keep you alive. Obviously I succeeded, but there is still a long way to go.”

Though subtle, the threat was not lost on Obi-Wan and he raised his hands in a placatory gesture. “Easy now, friend, there's no need for that. I have told you I will help, and help I shall. I just didn't expect this to be a long-term matter.”

“Did you really expect General Grievous to just let you go?”

“What can I say? I am well-known for my optimism.”

“Regretfully I must inform you that, here, it may be somewhat misplaced,” said the doctor, standing up and moving towards a side door. “The procedure will take place later. For now,” he tapped a panel on the wall, “you may use this room.”

Obi-Wan got up slowly, still unsure about using his legs, and was relieved to discover that they grudgingly held his weight this time. Carefully he made his way to the door; he was still shaky and his muscles were sore, and he had no wish to collapse. With Ay-Four-Dee following, he entered the new room. It was clearly a suite for important guests; _perhaps even Dooku,_ thought Obi-Wan, taking in the lush surroundings. He was just thinking how comfortably inviting the bed looked when he felt a sharp stinging sensation in his neck.

“Ow!” he exclaimed, slapping his hand to the injured area and spinning around in time to see the medical droid withdrawing a syringe.

“To help with the pain and muscle spasms, and ensure you get some rest,” Ay-Four-Dee stated unapologetically as he turned to leave the room. Pausing at the door he added, “Do get some sleep, Jedi; we have a lot of work ahead of us.” The door slid shut behind the droid, locking audibly.

“Quite the bedside manner,” Obi-Wan muttered to himself as he rubbed his neck. But whatever he had been injected with was potent and already he felt his body growing heavier. Deciding there was no point in fighting it he dragged himself, fully dressed, onto the large four-poster. When he woke up, he would have time to explore and weigh up his options.

He was sound asleep before his head even hit the pillow.


	11. The End, Or A Beginning?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this update has taken so long.   
> Thank you for all your kind comments, I'm glad that Ay-Four-Dee is so popular, he is such good fun to write.

**Chapter X  
** **The End, Or a Beginning?  
  
** _ Sometimes, accepting help is harder than offering it. _

  
  


The sleeping pod in which Grievous rested was completely soundproof when sealed, yet he was certain he could hear the Jedi in the next room. His doctor may have been right about him needing to rest in order to be strong enough for the coming operation, but his mind was far too stimulated to make relaxing possible. As if having that Gods' forsaken Jedi deciding his fate only feet away wasn't enough, lying in total darkness and silence allowed his mind's eye free rein to play scenes from his past over and over. He saw again his ship's accident. _Accident? Ha! Explosion_ , he corrected himself. He remembered hitting the water and waking in bacta, nothing in between. His memories of the bacta tank were vague and foggy, as were his recollections of his remaking and recovery. Being enclosed in the dark, with the memories freshly dug up, was like being back there. Suffocating beneath the black waves, trying to move limbs he no longer possessed while suspended in bacta. He could almost make himself believe he was back there. There was no fear, no panic, just his cold hatred towards his (now former) master, Count Dooku. A quick end seemed a mercy compared to what the old man rightly deserved. Perhaps Grievous should drown the human and then remove all of his limbs. The thought delivered some satisfaction for a time.

Again he became convinced that he could hear snatches of the conversation between Ay-Four-Dee and Kenobi drifting to him from outside, but knew it was impossible for even his enhanced hearing to pick up anything beyond the pod. The pod was dark grey in colour, similar to the shade he favoured for his cloaks, and oval in shape like a large egg upon its side. It halved perfectly, the lid lifting to allow Grievous to climb in and lie down upon the adjustable padded lining of the bottom half. Grievous, of course, didn't need to sleep lying down but it was an old habit and he preferred it. The inside of the lid doubled as a scanner, monitor, and computer. He could run diagnostics on himself if he chose, check if his gut-sack needed its fluids replenished or his organs needed blood. If so he was able to open his chest plates, plug a tube into the port fitted to his gut-sack, and set the transfusions while he rested. He could scan his mechanical body to ensure all his sensors and servos were running at one hundred per cent. He could also use the computer to check on the status of the _Invisible Hand_ , and access any urgent messages that came through. Should there be an emergency, he would be informed straight away.

Now, though, all the displays were turned off in a bid to help him find sleep, but it was proving pointless. Along with fluid transfusions he could also receive any required medications, including a sleeping aid. He rarely used this unless the doctor insisted upon it – usually when he had been injured severely enough that he required extensive work. It was, perhaps, one of the reasons he tolerated the medical droid as he did. The insufferable thing didn't treat him like a droid; on the contrary, it was invariably blithering on about how he needed to rest and restore his energy and strength. Tonight was one of those times the doctor _had_ told Grievous to ensure he was well-rested and so, with no hope of sleeping unaided, Grievous reached for the transfusion tube. As he opened his chest plating and attached the tube with practised ease, he tried to put Kenobi, Ay-Four-Dee, Dooku, and everything that was to come, out of his mind. Resting his head on the cushion, he closed his eyes as the sedative began its work.

  
  


  
  


With his senses honed by years of training, Obi-Wan was usually fully awake and alert at the smallest sound – even more so since the start of the war where any noise could mean an instant attack – but his imprisonment and torture, coupled with whatever Ay-Four-Dee had injected him with, had left him groggy and disorientated. So when the medical droid shuffled in some hours later, it wasn't until he started arranging a tray on the bedside table that the Jedi even managed to stir. He sat up stiffly, stretched, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes just in time to see the droid looming over him with another needle.

“Erm, may I enquire what it is you plan on drugging me with today?” Obi-Wan asked, shuffling away from the doctor.

He hadn't moved far enough though. The droid simply extended the syringe-wielding arm and jabbed Obi-Wan in the neck, uncannily managing to hit exactly the same spot as before.

“A mild stimulant to help you wake, and an analgesic,” Ay-Four-Dee replied, ignoring Obi-Wan's gruff exclamation of pain. “Eat,” he ordered. “The refresher is through there,” he pointed to a door in the corner of the room. “I will be back to collect you in no more than twenty minutes.” With that he departed, and Obi-Was noticed he left through a different door to the one he himself had come through last night.

Obi-Wan helped himself to a cup of water as he assessed first his injuries and then his surroundings. Whatever the doctor had attacked him with for the pain had helped considerably, aside from the sting in his neck. His throat was still sore and swollen from Grievous choking him, and the ankle he had landed on was inflamed, although on closer inspection Obi-Wan decided it was a sprain rather than a break. His muscles ached terribly as he carefully stretched again, but he knew it was nothing compared to how he should be feeling. He placed his cup down and wandered across the room to make use of the refresher.

Everything about these rooms was luxurious: the four-poster bed; the thick carpets and plump, plush couches; the fine art pieces thoughtfully displayed. His initial assessment about these being the quarters reserved for extremely special guests was undoubtedly correct. It must have been the best accommodation the Separatists had ever afforded a Republican prisoner.

Returning from his toilette, Obi-Wan spent his time inspecting the room as he ate. The doors were both locked. _No surprises there_. The wardrobe held a vast selection of robes and other manner of clothing. _Odd,_ he thought, but took advantage of the opportunity to replace his own blood-soaked tunic with a clean dark-brown one anyway. There was an inter-ship comm unit on one wall, which Obi-Wan managed to resist prodding. Finally he sat and finished breaking his fast as he watched countless Trade Federation cruisers idling beyond his window. It was a galling sight: hundreds of ships, and each must be full of battle droids. He still had no way of knowing if his mission had been at all successful. He hadn't exactly had a chance to speak to Grievous and ask what his plans were. Was he going to leave the Separatists to fight their war without him? Would he be willing to help the Republic? Obi-Wan didn't hold out much hope on that score. Again his impatience flared; he wanted to know Grievous' plans now. Though he understood the cyborg's need to undo some of the damage inflicted by Dooku, he couldn't ignore how much was at stake for the Republic as a whole. To the millions of people struggling through it, an end to the war mattered far more than wrongs done to their most hated enemy. _Patience, Obi-Wan,_ he chided himself. _Coruscant wasn't built in a day._

He was just thinking about the impending operation, and his part in it, when the side door slid open to reveal Ay-Four-Dee. Seeing that the droid did not intend to enter the room, Obi-Wan stood and made his way to the door, favouring his swollen ankle.

“Come with me,” Ay-Four-Dee said, leading Obi-Wan through a bedroom even larger than the one he had rested in. Everything in this chamber was bigger, from the bed to the viewport, but by far the most notable thing here was the massive grey egg-shaped object standing in the middle of the room. Obi-Wan eyed it curiously as they passed, but even that mystery couldn't keep his attention from the rest of the room. What he saw next stopped him in his tracks. A huge expanse of wall had been decorated with Jedi lightsabers. Obi-Wan was no fool – he knew of Grievous' penchant for collecting the weapons of Jedi he defeated in battle – but to see them so brazenly displayed, knowing that each saber had once belonged to a brother or sister in his order... well, it made his insides go cold. There were a few hilts he recognised, but many more he didn't. Without thinking he turned towards the display, but he had no sooner taken a step than he was halted by a firm grip around his bicep. He looked round. Ay-Four-Dee was staring at him, his expression unreadable, even for a droid. He shook his head once.

 _“This_ way, please.” With slight emphasis, he guided Obi-Wan across the room and through a door which locked behind them. “Many Jedi have tried to best the General, but none will succeed.”

Obi-Wan didn't know what to say. Others in his place would have been furious with Grievous, for the murders of so many Jedi and for his trophy collection, but all Obi-Wan felt was sorrow. All those lives lost, for nothing. Every knight Grievous had struck down in hatred need not have died if only the Council had done the right thing in the beginning when Kalee had asked for its assistance. He couldn't continue along this line of thought, he knew, or he'd go mad. There was no point dwelling on the 'what ifs'. What mattered now was that he helped Grievous. Hopefully this time with the cyborg would give Obi-Wan some opportunity to find out the General's plans, and maybe more. Would Grievous perhaps reveal the identity or location of Darth Sidious, or might he even be convinced to help the Republic?

Lost in thought, it wasn't until Ay-Four-Dee released his arm that he looked up. He gasped in surprise, reaching instinctively for his own missing lightsaber before he realised his mistake. Ahead of him was a shelf filled with eerie empty faceplates identical to Grievous' which he'd assumed, from his first brief glimpse, was a small army comprised of Grievous replicas. Feeling more than a little foolish, he looked curiously around what he now understood to be Ay-Four-Dee's laboratory. As well as all manner of mechanical and medical equipment, the room held dozens of... Obi-Wan didn't feel 'spare parts' was the right way to describe another person's limbs and such, but that's what they were. Replacement arms, legs, and plating.

His trepidation about the oncoming operation and the discovery of the saber collection temporarily forgotten, he couldn't help but ask, “Does the General need, er, _replacements_ often?”

Ay-Four-Dee was busy tapping at a console and didn't bother to look up as he replied, “Often enough, yes. He likes to look pristine at all times and blaster shots do not buff out. Now, please come and lie on the table. I wish to see that leg.”

“It's only a sprain,” said Obi-Wan, obediently hopping onto the table. He recalled from the data-chip one particular transmission of Dooku's, in which he observed how very vain Grievous had become. Obi-Wan wondered now if this was what he had meant. It was true that every time he saw Grievous at the start of a battle, he was gleaming.

“Lie back, with your feet on the table. I need to scan you.”

“Just warn me if you wish to stab me with anything else,” said Obi-Wan amiably, lying still as the medical scanner passed back and forth over him several times.

“Where is Grievous?” he asked, hoping against hope that the doctor already had Grievous tucked away, unconscious, in preparation.

“The General is resting – he should be awake soon.”

Obi-Wan pondered that. He was fairly certain the room in which he'd seen the lightsabers was Grievous' bedroom, and that room had been empty, so where was Grievous? The image of the great General sleeping in a bed was such a bizarre one that Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile at it. “I didn't realise he slept,” he remarked conversationally.

“Of course he sleeps,” Ay-Four-Dee actually snapped. “He is not a droid. His brain is still that of an _organic_ being and, like all others, he needs rest to function. _Not_ that it is any of _your_ business,” he finished sniffily.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at the snipe. It turned out the medical droid was really rather protective of Grievous. _And no bad thing_ , thought Obi-Wan. In his opinion it was about time the Kaleesh had someone on his side, even if it was this strange little medi-droid.

Scans apparently finished, Obi-Wan sat up as the doctor viewed the read-outs on his screens. “Nothing broken, although the ankle has suffered a mild second degree inversion. I suggest you stay off that foot for a few days. I advise using this to speed the recovery.” He handed Obi-Wan a wooden cane and returned to the scan results. “You have, however, suffered severe muscular spasms throughout your body. I have given you a muscle relaxant which should keep any convulsions or seizures at bay, but expect some stiffness over the next few days nevertheless. I have seen to it that there will be what you would call 'real' food available soon so I suggest you do your best to rest and regain your strength while you are able. The swelling around your throat should settle naturally in due course, although –” without warning he sprayed something cold on Obi-Wan's throat and continued blandly “– an application of bacta will improve recovery time. A bacta patch will take care of your ankle, but you will have to forego footwear, and _do_ remember it will need replacing. _”_

Obi-Wan was impressed. Considering most of the work this droid did was probably mechanical in nature his biological medicine was very good. He was just about to enquire about Ay-Four-Dee's previous work when a short, loud alarm went off at one of the doctor's other computers.

“Ah, right on time. That will be the master waking up,” said Ay-Four-Dee. “Please do not move, he is... concerned enough without your help.” He handed Obi-Wan a bacta patch. “I assume you know how to apply this.” With that he left the room.

Being alone in the doctor's lab was quite unnerving. Dozens of sightless eye sockets from Grievous' spare faceplates seemed to be watching him, and Obi-Wan felt his anxiety at the thought of what was to come rise again. Slipping into someone's mind, encouraging their thoughts in the right direction by easing them away from negative emotions towards more positive ones was a well-used Jedi skill. The technique was simple enough to perform, and Obi-Wan was well-versed in it. He was particularly efficient at animal bonding, which called for a very similar technique. But even so, he couldn't help feeling that he would be responsible should Grievous not make it through the operation. The Jedi had let Grievous down enough and Obi-Wan had no desire to let him down again. He was also quite certain that, if something did go wrong, Ay-Four-Dee would murder him on the spot.

  
  


  
  


Grievous' sleep had not been sound. Dwelling on his ship's crash had brought back his old nightmares. This time, when he fell into the sea he was in his metallic body, and he remained conscious as he sank slowly, steadily, to the bottom. Realistically he would be capable of surviving underwater for a great length of time – the same was true of outer space – but, alas, dreams never conform to reality, and in his dream he was drowning, unable to swim to the surface, his very limbs frozen. This was a nightmare that had plagued him again and again in the months after his remaking, ending always with him awaking suddenly, in a blind panic and desperate for open space. This time, however, someone else had been there. He hadn't been able, as he was clasped and dragged back up to the surface and to oxygen, to see his rescuer; though he had clung to the figure like a young animal to its mother. It wasn't until they reached the sunlit surface that he had seen his saviour's face.

It was Kenobi.

Needless to say, this had put Grievous in a less-than-agreeable mood.

“You allowed that Jedi into my bedchamber?” he growled, disbelieving, at his unapologetic doctor.

“Well, unless we had gone via the window, I fail to see any other way of getting him to my lab,” came the rebuttal. “You really must try not to fret so – it does you no good – and besides, he was unaware you were in here, and I made sure he did not touch anything.”

This answer clearly wasn't good enough as Grievous slouched across to his lightsaber display, checking it over with a critical eye.

“He did not seem too happy to see those; I cannot imagine why. Why he has agreed to help you quite confounds me.”

“And you are certain that he will?”

“I do not believe he wishes to kill you, which is more than we could probably say of most Jedi.” Ay-Four-Dee watched as Grievous rearranged a saber hilt here or there. “We can do this another time if you are having second thoughts?”

“No,” said Grievous, now brushing an imaginary speck of lint from the shoulder of his cloak. “No, this needs to be done, and the sooner the better. Then I can move onto Dooku.”

“Very well, then we might as well get on with it.” Ay-Four-Dee refrained from mentioning that, even if the operation was a complete success, he wouldn't be fighting the Sith apprentice any time soon. “Just act as though General Kenobi is not there – or, at least, refrain from killing him. You have managed to inflict quite enough damage for him to be getting on with for the time being, anyway.”

Grievous huffed, unabashed, but followed the doctor through to his lab.

  
  


  
  


Obi-Wan had, as asked, not moved from the examination table. He finished applying the bacta patch as the door opened and, as Grievous slouched in behind Ay-Four-Dee, he sat up a little straighter. He considered asking Grievous if he had rested well, but thought that perhaps the comment would not be appreciated, and now was not the time to try and rile the General. So, disobeying all his natural urges, Obi-Wan continued to sit quietly as the doctor called up an image from Grievous' recent brain scan. Grievous, for his part, simply acted as though one of his most hated enemies wasn't sitting five feet from him as he prepared to have his living, conscious brain operated upon.

Obi-Wan watched and listened with interest as the doctor pointed out what he planned to rewire and what he planned to remove. The holoimage looked to be more organic than computer, but it was a close thing. No wonder Grievous always came across like a machine: his mind had been modelled into one. As far as Obi-Wan was concerned, it didn't matter that Grievous' body was ninety per cent machine. Somewhere, in that holoimage, buried beneath all the implants and wires, was the real Grievous. Even though he knew it meant a great deal of work for him in the coming weeks, Obi-Wan looked forward to the results. He promised himself then and there that he would try and put the war aside so he could focus completely on this task. However much he wanted to, he couldn't hurry things. The Jedi Council had agreed that Grievous was the key to ending the war, and Obi-Wan would just have to ride it out and see where each day led him.

Soon the doctor had Grievous installed in a large adjustable chair, flanked on one side by a large trolley of quite unpleasant-looking instruments and on the other by a small chair, to which Ay-Four-Dee directed Obi-Wan.

“Please come and take a seat, Kenobi.”

For the first time since entering the room Grievous looked at Obi-Wan, glaring as the Jedi moved with the aid of the cane.

“You've given him a weapon?” Grievous snarled accusingly at Ay-Four-Dee. Obi-Wan couldn't help but think that if Grievous had a mouth, he would be baring his teeth at him now.

“Oh yes, I've come all this way just to incapacitate you with a wooden stick, General,” he rallied, rolling his eyes, though once he was seated he did lay the stick on the floor and push it out of reach.

“Always so quick with a smart retort, Jedi. Perhaps I should have Doctor remove your tongue before we continue.”

Looking quite ready to oblige his master, Ay-Four-Dee interrupted before Obi-Wan could answer back. “Now, really, both of you. This will be a much simpler process if you are both as relaxed as possible. Enough squabbling, please.”

Again, Obi-Wan couldn't help smirking as he saw Grievous glare at the droid and settle back into his chair. He may have been reprimanded himself, but there was something amusing about how the two of them behaved together.

“If you are both _quite_ ready, we can begin. Jedi?”

Remembering how serious the situation was, Obi-Wan quickly became solemn. There was no fear coming from Grievous, only, perhaps, a little confusion and, as ever, that simmering anger. Obi-Wan nodded to show he was ready to begin. He reached out through the Force to gently probe against Grievous' mind. His estimation of Grievous' mental strength had been correct; as soon as he pressed against it, the simmering anger grew more pronounced whilst everything else seemed to harden and retreat. Once Grievous was under strain and in a more vulnerable state, which he doubtless would be during the operation, it would become easier for Obi-Wan to force his way inside and begin to manipulate the General's thoughts. He'd much rather Grievous tried to let him in though – it would make things easier on both of them. Each would need all the energy he could muster without expending it needlessly fighting the other.

“Grievous.” Obi-Wan's tone was as inoffensive and gentle as he could make it. “I need you to close your eyes for me and relax as best you can. Try not to think of anything, just allow your mind to empty itself of everything.”

Grievous lifted his head again to glower at Obi-Wan who, with his own eyes closed in concentration, couldn't see it – but he could feel it.

“Please, try. It really will make this easier. Imagine you are in a place you have always found calming. No other people around to disturb you. A beach, an observatory, anywhere familiar where you could rest safely, for instance?”

Grievous' glare softened fractionally and he finally laid his head back down and closed his eyes. After a few minutes Obi-Wan felt a slight give in the Force around Grievous and, with only a fairly small heave, he pressed himself into Grievous' mind. He hadn't been prepared for how dark he would find it there. All he could sense was anger, confusion, regret and more rage. Wherever he tried to reach there was nothing else to bring forward. He could, he knew, use his own energy to calm some of the tempest he found there, but doing that for any length of time would exhaust him. He carefully pulled back out and opened his eyes. The sight of Grievous lying there, eyes closed and looking almost peaceful, was such a sharp contrast to the inner turmoil Obi-Wan had just experienced that he felt quite eager for the procedure to start.

“I think we are ready to begin when you are, Doctor. Well done, General,” said Obi-Wan.

At the sound of Obi-Wan's voice, Grievous' eyes snapped open again, but this time he didn't move or speak.

Ay-Four-Dee was pressing keys on a console near Grievous.

“I am going to set the restraints now, Master. I know you hate them, but I cannot risk you thrashing about when I am trying to relocate something sensitive.”

With a quiet wheeze of resignation Grievous obediently placed his arms on the armrests and straightened his legs. Large metal straps crawled out of the chair and secured him firmly all over, until the only parts of his body he could move were his head and his fingers. The sight made Obi-Wan feel suddenly claustrophobic.

“Also, I may need to spin the chair after I have finished at the front,” Ay-Four-Dee said cheerfully. “So at least you will not fall off.”

“Just get on with it,” Grievous snapped.

Ay-Four-Dee selected his first tool, mechanical in nature, and moved to stand by Grievous' head.

“I will have to remove all your head gear and plates to ensure I can access everything, and then attach a brace to prevent you throwing your head around. I will leave your vocal synthesiser intact though; if you can speak we will know we are on the right track.”

“He'll be awake through the surgery?” Obi-Wan exclaimed. He had always considered himself a man with a strong stomach, but this made him feel more than a little queasy.

“As I said, his ability to communicate with us will let us know we are going in the right direction. There is marginally less risk this way.”

Obi-Wan was still astounded that he couldn't sense even a hint of trepidation coming from Grievous, when he himself had broken out in a fine sweat.

“Doctor,” rasped Grievous. “Before you begin, I have some conditions. If the surgery is unsuccessful but I survive, I order you to end my life. Do you understand?”

“It seems you get all the fun jobs, Doctor,” Obi-Wan quipped to cover his alarm at this turn of events.

Grievous twitched to lash out at the Jedi but was unable to do more than growl scornfully before erupting in a short fit of coughing.

“You have my word, Master,” Ay-Four-Dee replied sincerely.

“Surely it won't come to that, though, will it?” Obi-Wan asked.

“We shall just have to see,” said Ay-Four-Dee, picking up the drill-like tool again.

“I have one more stipulation,” said Grievous. His eyes were trained on Obi-Wan this time.

“Do you want me to hold your hand?” Sometimes Obi-Wan really couldn't help himself, however hard he tried.

“You know, Master Jedi, it IS possible for me to remove your tongue if I am instructed to do so,” Ay-Four-Dee scolded Obi-Wan.

“Sorry, sorry,” Obi-Wan conceded, lifting his hands in surrender. “Please, General, do continue.”

“Turn around.”

“Pardon?”

“There is no reason you need to watch Doctor work, so turn around, Jedi.”

“Well, I won't be able to work as well with my back to you. I've no plan to critique your doctor's methods,” Obi-Wan responded. He certainly didn't have any wish to watch Grievous' brain being sliced open. “The closer to you I am for this, the simpler it will be,” he tried to explain.

Grievous, however, did not seem satisfied with that answer. “I have no wish to be scrutinised by a filthy Jedi,” he spat, his anger rising.

“Well, I'm afraid that _this_ filthy Jedi is here to try and save your life,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “That's the only reason I'm sitting here now. I've no wish to be staring at your insides, Grievous.”

Grievous tore his gaze away sharply and that was when Obi-Wan realised what the real problem was. Without his face plating and faux skull, Grievous would be left incredibly exposed and vulnerable – naked, even. Obi-Wan had a sense that it was more than just Grievous' pride at work here: since he had been remade, Ay-Four-Dee was probably the only being to have seen him in such a vulnerable state. The realisation softened Obi-Wan.

Gently he said, “I have no intention of harming you, Grievous, nor do I have any desire to stare at you. I'll need to close my eyes for the most part anyway, to help the Force guide me. You've nothing to fear from me.”

Grievous met his eyes again and Obi-Wan was reminded of a wounded, cornered beast. When confronted with such a creature, Obi-Wan knew it was important to seem as unthreatening as possible – try not to blink more than absolutely necessary and always allow the creature to make the first move. Eventually Grievous looked away and laid his head back down.

“Proceed, Doctor,” he finally allowed.


	12. The Storm

**Chapter XI  
** **The Storm  
  
** _ Better to feel something than nothing. _

_  
_The apparently simple task of removing the armour around Grievous' head had been a disquieting experience for Obi-Wan.

Until Ay-Four-Dee actually began to remove the implants Obi-Wan had very little to do, other than reminding Grievous to keep his thoughts as clear and calm as possible. Physically accessing Grievous' brain turned out to be a long and uncomfortable process that involved disconnecting the many wires and tubes that attached what was left of Grievous' face to the faceplate. His vocal synthesiser and ventilator were connected behind his mouth grill, and the wires that fed into his brain from his audio receptors also had to be disconnected.

True to his word, Obi-Wan made no reaction when Ay-Four-Dee finally finished removing all the armour and set about securing a brace to keep Grievous totally immobile, but inside he was horrified. He had seen a holoimage of Grievous soon after the accident; he had been missing his legs and most of his arms, and was heavily bandaged. But they had taken so much more from him when they began his remaking. Obi-Wan hadn't really know what to expect under the mask; even so, he was shocked. Grievous actually turned his head away from the Jedi as the front plate was lifted off, and Obi-Wan, respectfully, was careful to not stare.

Where there should have been a mouth and a lower jaw was a boxed ventilator that helped pull air in and out of the General's damaged lungs via a series of connected tubes. Below that sat a smaller box – the vocal synthesiser. Above this to just above his eyes the structure of his face seemed intact, the skin there made of fine deep-red scales. His eyes were as fierce as Obi-Wan had ever seen them, though somehow they seemed smaller like this. With the brace fully fitted Grievous was forced to turn toward the Jedi again, meeting his gaze with defiance and daring a comment. Obi-Wan held both the gaze and his tongue.

Above Grievous' brow and around the sides of his head where his long pointed ears would have been, it seemed the skull had been removed. The scaled skin that remained was scarred in places, and it appeared that it was stretched straight over his brain. Wires emerged from the sides of his head and the base of his skull, and at the back of his head dozens of cables and wires disappeared down tubes into his 'neck'.

“And the simple part is over,” said Ay-Four-Dee, setting the second audio fin down on his tray and picking up a laser scalpel. “Ready, Master?”

“Proceed.” Grievous' voice sounded more mechanical than usual, not as deep with his synthesiser disconnected from everything non-essential.

“Now would probably be a good time to begin those techniques we practised, General,” said Obi-Wan, staunchly ignoring the doctor as he sliced into the skin on the top of Grievous' head.

Grievous let out a grunt of pain but continued to breathe deeply and allowed his eyes to close. Obi-Wan risked a glance at the doctor just in time to see a flap of skin being carefully folded forward over Grievous' forehead. Gulping slightly, he too closed his eyes, blocking his discomfort of the situation and surroundings, and reached out through the Force. He knew that if he let Grievous down now, it would haunt him until the end of his days. Grievous was clearly trying his best to be accommodating: this time Obi-Wan had even less trouble slipping inside Grievous' mind. He concentrated on pouring every positive and happy feeling he could towards Grievous.

The General's mind was as dark as it had been on Obi-Wan's previous entry, but this time he could also feel the physical pain Grievous was experiencing. Somehow, sensing rather than knowing what to do, Obi-Wan drew as much of that pain as he could out of and away from Grievous and took the agony himself. From what he could gather, what was to come would be more trying for Grievous than physical hurt, and taking this away seemed the right thing to do. Already he was aware of Grievous' breathing easing.

Of the two, Grievous seemed to be doing rather better at staying relaxed. Obi-Wan's entire body was tight. Waiting for the doctor to announce that the procedure had begun in earnest; the pain he had taken from Grievous sitting sharp and heavy in the middle of his chest: however hard he tried he couldn't ignore the tension.

“As I said,” Ay-Four-Dee began in his regular high tone of voice, as though he were doing nothing more interesting than pulling a tooth, “extensive work has been carried out on the frontal lobe, which is where I shall be starting. Your motor skills have been significantly enhanced through the changes here, but it is also the primary site of the Rage Enhancement Implant, though that has been wired into various other areas too.”

Apart from the metallic _clink_ of the tools, there was complete silence as Ay-Four-Dee went on with his work. To Obi-Wan, time seemed to stretch out forever. His chest was still tight with pain and he was struggling to conquer anxieties he couldn't begin to explain. Trying to cover his worries he opened his eyes briefly to watch Grievous.

The General hadn't moved – he was so thoroughly restrained he wouldn't have had a chance even if he tried – but his eyes were still closed. Obi-Wan was still a little taken aback at how quickly Grievous had agreed to follow his instructions, and he wondered where it was Grievous pictured himself to be since Obi-Wan had presented the technique to him.

“How are you doing, General?” he asked cautiously, closing his eyes again lest the Kaleesh think he had been staring. Well, perhaps he had been, but not in the way Grievous would doubtless assume.

Grievous had been concentrating on imagining himself somewhere away from the surgical chair he was bound to, and the Jedi's voice seemed to come to him from a great distance. He remembered, perhaps not all, but many, of his previous operations, and what he remembered most was the pain, when he had screamed so loud and so long the surgeons would turn off his voice box to silence the noise. The only relief he'd known was when the pain became so great he would lose consciousness. This, so far, was nothing like that, and to his intense irritation he knew that the Jedi was likely responsible for this being a much less unpleasant experience.

Keeping his eyelids closed he reached for the words. “There is... no pain,” he admitted. He did not, however, give voice to the intensely unsettling sensation of being able to feel his own skin resting against itself, nor the distant awareness of Ay-Four-Dee's careful prodding from behind him.

“I'm glad. You are doing extraordinarily well,” Obi-Wan said encouragingly, careful to keep the pain from his voice.

But Grievous was no fool. Without the enhanced audio receptors attached his hearing was a far cry from its usual superiority, but nonetheless he could hear quite clearly the edge in the Jedi's voice. He had been in pain until he had felt the Jedi connect with him. Could someone move someone else's pain through the Force? Grievous was unsure how to feel about Kenobi right now. To him, Jedi had always been scum. Selfish, traitorous murderers all of them, only out for what they could get, using their knowledge of the Force to take what they wanted from those they considered beneath them – which was almost everyone.

Grievous was well aware that Kenobi had come here hoping that whatever decision Grievous made once he'd discovered Dooku's duplicity would benefit the Republic, but that didn't explain the Jedi's odd willingness to help him now. Letting Grievous die would damage the Separatist movement just as much as if he abandoned it, so why was he going to these lengths to ensure Grievous lived? Jedi were well-known for their lying nature, but Kenobi had sounded strangely sincere when he had told Grievous how he wanted to help him, and that he wished he had been there to help in the past.

This wasn't the time to be dwelling on these thoughts. If the Jedi had an ulterior motive he would discover it in due course, and if his sincerity was genuine then Grievous would learn why. That was all there was to it. For now, the gentle encouragement from Kenobi was oddly calming. Perhaps it was something to do with the mental link between them but he wasn't finding the Jedi's voice nearly as irritating as usual, so he allowed him to continue.

As much as Obi-Wan hoped the entire surgery would continue this calmly he knew it wouldn't last, and was soon proved correct when the pain he was channelling from Grievous spiked sharply enough to leave him breathless. At the same moment the dark space of Grievous' mind, in which Obi-Wan sat, underwent a drastic change. It was like a dam bursting; the many waves of hatred, anger and rage that resided in Grievous were washed away so suddenly it was as though they physically flew from him, battering Obi-Wan as they passed.

The only explanation was that Ay-Four-Dee had begun the removal of the Rage Enhancer. He had never felt anything like it in his life. It was an astonishing sensation; in fact, coupled with the spike of agony, it was exhausting. He managed to keep himself with Grievous, staying in his mind, and when the torrent had abated Obi-Wan carefully felt his way around. It was still far from a pleasant place to be – still unhappy, cold, and full of ill will – but no longer anywhere near as overpowering and dark as it had been.

Grievous, focusing on trying to remain relaxed, noticed nothing until he heard the Jedi's grunt of discomfort. He opened his eyes, saw the Jedi's deep frown and the beads of perspiration on his brow, and noticed too that, at some point, the Jedi had moved closer so that his outstretched hand was only a few inches from Grievous' arm. Puzzled, he closed his eyes again, wincing a little as he felt Ay-Four-Dee tug something that must have been quite deeply embedded. Feeling things moving through your own brain was deeply unsettling.

The process of removing the Rage Enhancer, easily the biggest piece of hardware installed in Grievous' cranium, was a slow one even for Ay-Four-Dee. The implant was wired into every single relevant part of Grievous' head, ensuring that anger and hatred ruled above all else. In that time, Obi-Wan managed to recover from the initial onslaught and Grievous remained unaware of any change, save that his relaxation technique seemed to be coming more easily with time, and that the Jedi's presence felt less invasive, almost natural. And, of course, there was the continued feeling of having his brain picked at.

By this point, Obi-Wan had also noticed that he felt almost welcome inside the General's mind. Though likely subconsciously, Grievous had been resisting the intrusion up until now and it required Obi-Wan to put up a small fight to keep himself firmly lodged there. Now, however, he sat there with ease; the only real discomfort was the sharp pain in his chest that refused to ebb. Had Obi-Wan not been drawing the pain from Grievous, the cyborg would most likely – and understandably, considering what he was enduring – be in agony.

Eventually Ay-Four-Dee completed the Rage Enhancer removal, placing the object on his trolley. It was an ugly looking thing: a small, irregularly-shaped box, full of circuit boards sprouting dozens of wire tentacles of varying lengths.

“The Rage Enhancer has been successfully uninstalled.” The extensive period of concentration had change the doctor's usual aloofness to a more serious tone. “Are you certain you wish to continue?”

Grievous considered the question carefully before he replied. With the Rage Enhancer gone, he would likely be able to think more clearly, plan more carefully, and with more patience. He still hated Dooku, still wanted his revenge. Hate and anger would, of course, still be very much a part of him, but they would no longer be the only parts. If he continued with the surgery, would it be possible for him one day to be happy; content, even? There was so much he knew he had once experienced. Slaying his enemies, battling, flying, hunting, and many other things had once filled him with exhilaration and, though it may be a foolish dream, if he could have back moments like those, he was determined to take them. And it wasn't just the retrieval of emotions he was fighting for, was it? No: he wanted his memories back. He wanted to know what Sidious, Dooku and Hill had chosen to hide from him. These things were his and he would take them back.

“All or nothing, Doctor,” came the mechanical voice decisively.

“Very well. I am going to start by removing the blockers in the frontal lobe, then I will move back to the temporal and parietal lobes. The first part, however, is where things could become problematic. I suggest you get ready, Jedi.”

Obi-Wan controlled his thundering heart, ignoring the small voice in the back of his mind – which sounded strangely like Anakin's – that asked why he was so invested in this and the potential outcome.

“I am impressed with your stamina, Master. This should be exceedingly painful, yet you are dealing with it remarkably well.”

“There is pain,” Grievous admitted. “But not as much as there was...” There was a long, heavy pause before, “For which I am not ungrateful.”

Opening his eyes in surprise, Obi-Wan's blue orbs met the golden ones beside him. He gave Grievous a gentle smile and a nod of acknowledgement. “See, General. It looks like the surgery is a success already.”

Grievous replied with a scowl that had no real venom behind it and closed his eyes, and Obi-Wan, still smiling, followed suit. Moments later, the quiet tinkering of Ay-Four-Dee selecting his next tools resumed. Teasing aside, perhaps it really was working already. Only yesterday Grievous had been on the brink of killing him and now he had thanked him. Alright, perhaps it wasn't an actual 'thank you', but it was still a massive step by comparison.

The corners of Obi-Wan's mouth were still twitching a little when it happened. First Grievous' body shuddered so mightily against the restraints that Obi-Wan feared they might not hold. Then every thought flew from him as Grievous' mind bombarded him with bright flashes of colour, sounds and images, each darting by too fast for Obi-Wan to make any sense of. It was rather like being trampled by a stampeding Cherfer herd. Distantly, he heard Grievous let out a pained groan, though Obi-Wan couldn't sense any physical hurts other than the ebbing residue from earlier. In the midst of his confusion, he was suddenly struck by the realisation that he was overwhelmingly joyful. It was such an odd reaction to the situation that he wondered for a moment what was wrong with him, only to realise that it wasn't him. It was Grievous!

No sooner had the realisation hit him than he began trying to syphon away the excess emotions pouring from Grievous. The joy he felt was replaced suddenly by a sorrow so extreme it almost made Obi-Wan weep and forget what he was meant to be doing. He was here to be strong for Grievous; as overpowering as these feelings were for Obi-Wan they were far worse for the General, who was now letting out heart-rending cries and thrashing desperately against his bonds.

Obi-Wan shifted closer to Grievous' chair and held out both hands towards him, one hand drawing from Grievous and the other feeding him. He sent every relaxing neutral emotion, thought and memory he could muster through the link. It went on like that for a long time. Occasionally Ay-Four-Dee would mutter something as he worked, but Obi-Wan was too busy concentrating to take in his words. The newly-released emotions continued to wreak havoc on Grievous' – and by association Obi-Wan's – mind. One moment there would be happiness, which was abruptly replaced by hate, then pride, then love, anger, excitement, sadness, happiness again, despair, confusion, anguish and, for one rather awkward moment, extreme sexual arousal. It was like one of those casino Jubilee wheels: once the table was spun you had no idea where it would stop.

Taking some of the emotion from Grievous was becoming too much for Obi-Wan, so he changed tack. Separating himself from Grievous' feelings, he focused instead on countering what came, trying to prevent – or at least, dull – the mental turmoil of rushing from elation to despair and back again. This seemed to work better: Grievous was, at least, not thrashing as hard as he had been and his cries and shouts had reduced to quieter groans. Mostly he muttered to himself, Basic completely forgotten as he yammered away in what Obi-Wan suspected was his native Kaleesh tongue.

What Obi-Wan needed to do was find a way to try and return Grievous to the here and now. Wherever he was, it was far from the operating chair he was on. If he continued to give into the memories that were being unlocked, Obi-Wan feared he might not get him back. He knew from the images flying at him through their connection that Grievous was reliving memories, many of which took place on Kalee. Often there were images of other Kaleesh – Grievous with them – eating, hunting, laughing, making love, mourning. Other scenes came from battle: large insectoids slaying friends around him. And over and over again Obi-Wan was forced to watch, as though it were happening to himself, Grievous underwater, falling into the depths. Oddly, he could have sworn that he saw briefly, and more than once, a vision of himself pulling Grievous from the water. He did not have time to dwell on this, though; he needed to get Grievous away from it all and back to reality. Without even realising it he shifted his chair forward again, close enough that he was able to unconsciously lay both hands on Grievous' right forearm. The Force might work more effectively though living matter, but this was efficient too. He pressed himself to the front of Grievous' mind, projecting his presence into every scene Grievous visited, and called out for his attention.

“ _You must come with me, Grievous.”_ He spoke aloud as well as into Grievous' mind. Again and again he called until, finally, he felt he had been seen and heard. At that moment he too could see Grievous. It was not Grievous as he was now but as he had been, back when he was still Qymaen jai Sheelal. He was wearing the tribal robes of the Kaleesh people and his mask marked with red. The only giveaway that it was Grievous who stood before Obi-Wan was the burning gold of his eyes. It was as though the two of them stood face to face in the eye of an epic storm of voices and faces that rushed past and around them: Grievous' memories. From here the ever-changing flood of emotions didn't reach Obi-Wan, making it far easier for him to think more clearly. He knew he had to get Grievous out from the place they were or he would be stuck there forever.

He found he could walk towards Grievous, who glanced at him cautiously before turning back to watch a distant memory dance past. A large group of Kaleesh, their faces blurred through the storm, were chanting the warrior's name, and Grievous turned and took a step towards them.

“No!” Obi-Wan called out desperately. He refused to lose him like this. He knew that, if he couldn't convince Grievous to leave with him now, the cyborg would be lost inside his own mind forever. Reaching out, he grabbed Grievous' shoulder, dimly registering the rough fabric feel of the cloth beneath his hand. “Grievous, you must come with me.”

Grievous turned to the Jedi, looking at him with those unreadable eyes, and Obi-Wan got the distinct impression that Grievous didn't recognise him.

“General, it's me: Obi-Wan. You _must_ trust me, please, come with me?” he pleaded.

Grievous looked back at the faces only he could see.

“They aren't _real_ , Grievous, they are just memories,” Obi-Wan told him, careful to not lose his grip on Grievous. It seemed, somehow, very important that he didn't let go. “ _I_ am real _,_ you must trust me.”  
  
Grievous turned back to him, then back once again to his past.


End file.
